Pink birds in the snow

The children from our block built a snow mountain in the front yard across the street. What’s a snow mountain? Just that: a hill-like structure made of snow. Perhaps it wouldn’t get top billing in a snow sculpture competition, but it is a remarkable piece of work, if only for its simplicity. I can see it at this second: it’s a bit lumpy, and some of the younger guys have placed destructive foot prints up one side. It also has a dozen of those plastic flamingos mounted in all manner of repose, one with a head and neck buried in the snow and the legs jutting in the air.

I watched them yesterday (from the warmth of our LR): they were having such fun with the project, much more fun than I was having with my stack of 60 Law School applications to read, a trip to the incredibly boring gym to look forward to, and some form of week-end house tidying to attend to. What the heck is the matter with us? What would it take to get a group of multi-age (discreetly stated, don’t you think..) people out there to build a snow mountain (lacking imagination, we might as well copy the kids)? Just to slap together some snow to resemble one of those burial mounds, and then stick in some flamingos, without order or purpose?

The kid mountain is unfinished: it’s a work in progress. It’s so brilliant in its imperfection, what with that upside-down pink bird, truly making me smile every time I see it. So who had the richer Sunday, me or them?