"Dragons aren't real!" They scream at me from the sidewalk. Half a dozen of them, standing there, bare hands stuffed into pockets, shivering in light jackets, jeans, and running shoes. Too "cool", I guess, to dress appropriately for our cold and deeply snowy weather.
I ignore them and keep working. Already I have eight snowballs, each as tall as me, lined up more or less in a row. I pack snow in and around them to form a long, sinuous body. Next I add a carefully tapering tail, barbed at the end, and wings laid back along the sides of the body. Then a ridge of spikes down the middle of the back, followed by fore and hind limbs with clawed toes. I mould scales all the way from tail to head. The details of the head take longer and much more careful sculpting. The brow with a pair of curved horns. Giant, heavy lidded eyes. Tooth filled snout. Lines of whiskers drawn carefully back along the face. I'm too focused on the work to be cold. Too engaged to notice when those on the sidewalk grow bored and walk away, laughing among themselves. At last the sculpture is good enough. I dig the scrap of paper from my pocket. Unfolding it, I smooth out the creases and crinkles. The symbol is as clear as when I copied it from the huge, old, leatherbound tome Grandfather keeps hidden in his study. He's allowed me to read it, a few pages at a time, under his strict supervision. Now, painstakingly, I copy the symbol onto the brow of my snow dragon. Then it's done and I step back to survey my handiwork. It's impressive, if I do say so myself. "Hey! Kid!" Frowning, I turn toward the street to see a man holding a professional looking camera. He's waving enthusiastically. "That's awesome work! Did you do it all by yourself?" "Yessir!" I can't help a proud grin. "Would you mind if I take some pictures of it? For a local interest piece." "Sure." I stuff the scrap of paper into my pocket. Then I step back, away from the snow sculpture. "Ed Trake, photographer," He walks across the much trampled snow of the open field to hand me a business card for the small local free paper. He has a laminated press ID on a cord around his neck which says the same thing. "My editor will love this." He adds as he holds up the camera and begins taking shots. He circles around to capture the dragon from all angles, "How long did this take you?" I glance at the sky which is beginning to darken, "All afternoon." "Just today?" Ed's surprise is clear, "Fast work for something this big." I shrug it off. When I'm focused on a project, I lose time and nothing distracts me. He takes one more picture and gives me a smile, "Thank you. This really is awesome work." Then he's gone and I have to run. The sky is nearing full dark and Grandmother is a stickler for punctuality, especially for meals.
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AuthorAlexandra A. 'Lexa' Cheshire is the author of numerous novels and short stories published through Howling Wolf Books. Lexa is a wife, mother, cat owner, and music lover. Archives
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