in my opinion...
The Deep Red Scarf
It was cold.
Jazz didn’t need to venture out to know that.
An angry cold snap had snuck in overnight turning her window panes into million dollar works of the most elaborate ice patterns.
She pulled hard at her bright yellow snow boots as they resisted to slide over her thick, green bamboo woven socks, the way schoolboys resist holding the hand of a girl in the school parade.
Grabbing her snow shovel in one hand and with a travel mug of hot chocolate and nutmeg in the other, jazz tried to unlatch the door. The bolt didn’t move it was frozen solid.
She placed the mug carefully at her feet and as the frigid air lunged beneath the door, the travel mug began to steam wildly like some demented wild-west locomotive.
She shuffled her snow-boot-shuffle into her freezing kitchen, patting the empty, cold and lifeless wood heater as she went.
“Soon buddy. Momma’s gonna’ feed ya’ soon...”
Jazz grabbed a cup off of the hanging rack and placed it beneath a tap.
“30 seconds in the microwave and I’ll have that door open faster than...”
She turned the tap. Nothing happened.
She turned to the unheated wood heater.
“So ya’ froze the pipes too huh...?”
The soft thud-thud-thud on the door caused Jazz to drop the cup in the sink where it bounced and spun like an excited ice skater.
She shuffled back to the door, picked up her now mug of cold chocolate and peered through the artwork. All she could see was white with a flash of dark red. Intrigued, she tried the latch again and on the third try, it turned slowly and reluctantly.
Jazz dropped her travel mug and the innards instantly froze into tiny chocolate balls and sat waiting in the frozen snow on the door step.
The snowman stood proud, his black coal eyes shone and in his frozen stick arms, sat three logs, neatly sawn, iced in snow.
Jazz didn’t know if her teeth where chattering from the cold or the shock. She bent and lifted the logs from the snowman and as she did, one arm, relieved of its weight, shot up and hooked onto the deep red scarf around its neck.
The weight of the scarf slowly pulled the arm down again, as if handing it back to its owner.
Jazz looked stunned. She knew she had had to light the wood burner and fast; her fingers where now numb and a filling at the back of her mouth was beginning to ache.
She took the scarf and pausing to look around, thanked the charitable snowman before closing the door slowly and softly.
She hurried to the wood burner, the deep red scarf wrapped around her face and began to create welcome heat.
Jazz hugged her new mug of hot chocolate more to bring colour back to her fingers then anything.
She shuffled over to the door to peer out at the Artic offering. She could just make out the snowman, he was back in the middle of the garden where he was built.
He appeared to be hugging the snow woman that Tom had built.
It WAS cold.
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