Snowman

He sat in front of a leaf pile, struggling for dear life, hanging onto the last remaining cold degrees. Everything was melting away and returning to the earth. Everything covered was becoming uncovered, and slowly his body lost shape. His head sunk, his torso thinned, his nose was eaten by some neighborhood squirrel. His arms, great branches that once stretched out in defiance to the sun, now saw that they were no match for it, as each warming minute brought them closer to the ground. It was only the rocks that made his eyes and mouth, the buttons of his coat, that were untouched. These, in fact, appeared almost as if to grow larger, when really it was just the rest of him wasting away.

It was almost as if he were crying. It was almost as if he were bowing. It was almost as if he could feel these things that were happening to him. But he didn't. He felt none of it. He knew none of what was happening. But everyone around was watching. Everyone could see. And then, at the end, when he vanished, it was as if he was never there at all.