Icy Fingers- Friday Flash

ICY FINGERS
By Melissa L. Webb

English: Jack Frost on double-glazed windows, ...

English: Jack Frost on double-glazed windows, Chapeltoun, Scotland (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Mommy, who is Jack Frost?” Abigail asked as she bounced up to her mother.

Her mom glanced down at the six-year old. “What, Honey?”

She stared up at her, hands on hips. “Mommy, I said, ‘who is Jack Frost?’”

Her mother let out a small chuckle. “Why, he’s the one who brings the cold weather.”

Abigail cocked her head slightly and frowned. “He does?”

Her mother nodded sagely. “Yes, he does. When Winter begins to show, you know Jack Frost has been working late at night.”

She thought for a moment. “What exactly does he do, Mommy?”

“Well, when he comes across a lake or a pond, he breathes on it with his icy breath.”

Abigail’s eyes lit up. “That’s what makes the ice we skate on?”

Her mother nodded again. “Yes, and when Jack Frost steps across the ground with his chilly feet, snow appears in his path, turning it into a winter wonderland.”

She laughed in pure delight. “I love the snow, Mommy. It’s my favorite thing in the whole world.”

“I know, Sweetie,” her mother said and leaned down towards her. “But do you know what my favorite thing is? It’s when I get up early in the morning and pull back the curtain. I love the ice that covers the window in beautiful patterns.” Her mother smiled. “Jack Frost painted those pictures.”

Abigail looked at the window behind her, at the morning ice that covered the pane. “He did that?”

“He sure did,” her mother said, straightening up. “Jack knows how much people like it and how much they look forward to it every winter.” She looked down at her daughter’s smiling face. “Do you know what he is most famous for?”

The little girl’s eyes widened. “No. What is it, Mommy?”

Her mother laughed and touched her nose lightly. “You know how some mornings; you wake up and your nose is really really cold?”

“Like it was this morning?”

“Yes, like this morning. When that happens, you know he’s been visiting you.”

Abigail was quiet for a moment. “So he’s good, Mommy?”

Her mother looked down at her daughter. “Yes, Baby. He’s very good,” she reassured her. “He’s a lot like Santa Claus.”

Abigail nodded. “Okay, Mommy. If you say so,” she told her mom as she turned and headed back towards her room. “I guess it’s true,”

Abigail spoke to herself. “Jack Frost must be the man in my room at night with the icy fingers.”

 

© 2011 Melissa L. Webb

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