Gentle Snow
Beth Martin
This ebook is provided for free by the author for a limited time as a collection of short stories originally shared on social media during the month of December 2023. While this ebook is free to share in its entirety, it is protected by copyright law. You may share this ebook with others, but you may not alter, modify, or extract any part of its content, including individual stories. The stories in this collection are meant to be enjoyed as a whole.
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First Snowfall
Sam and Tabitha pressed their hands against the living area window, watching in wonder as the tiny white flakes gently floated through the air before settling on the shrubs and pathway outside.
“What is it?” Sam asked, breathing heavily against the glass. She turned to their father, who sat at the table reading the news on his tablet.
“Snow, I think,” he responded.
Tabitha pressed away from the window, walked to the sofa, and plopped down. “I’m just glad school got canceled,” she said nonchalantly, trying to act like she didn’t care about the unusual weather pattern.
“Can I go outside to play in it?” Sam asked.
“Uh, I don’t know,” their father said, looking up to stare at the gentle flurries swirling in a gust of wind. “Computer, is it safe to go outside?”
The computer responded gently, “Yes, it is safe to go outside. You’ll want to dress warmly and wear your pressure suit.”
“Okay, yeah,” the dad said, getting up. “Let’s all go.”
The girls’ voices overlapped as they both expressed their desire to explore outside.
Getting dressed for the outdoors was a long, arduous process, but eventually, the trio were suited up. Standing at the exit door, Sam gripped her father’s hand with her gloved fingers and asked, “Did it ever snow on Earth?”
“I was too little to remember when we moved away, but your grandmother said there was an entire season full of snow every year.”
Sam held her breath as the noisy fans kicked on and the pressure increased. It wouldn’t be long until the family would finally experience their first snow.
Surface
The crisp, cool air stung Keith’s skin, but he didn’t care: he was on a mission. He had to hurry because the weather was a touch warm, and the frost would melt soon. In his tiny hand, he held tightly onto the laces of his tiny ice skates as he looked for the perfect snowflake.
Many flakes were lying on the grass at skew angles, much too steep to walk on, let alone skate. After trekking over a few more enormous blades of grass, Keith found what he was looking for. Directly in front of him stretched a large snowflake, its surface perfectly smooth and flat. He crammed his feet into his skates and tentatively pushed himself forward. He glided along, a little shaky at first, but gained confidence as he shifted his weight from side to side, pushing against his feet and gaining speed.
The dry, cold air bit his cheeks, but he smiled against the cold wind as he zipped around the entire perimeter of the snowflake. The clouds rolled away, and the sun shone down, warming the air around him. With each lap, his snowflake skating rink got just a little smaller, and within a minute, there was just enough room for him to spin in place.
Keith took a deep breath as the last of the snowflake melted. Instead of standing firm on ice, he found himself standing in a cold puddle on a stiff blade of grass. He untied his skates and eased them off his feet, replacing them with his boots before walking back home while whistling a merry tune.
Globe
“Don’t shake it too hard,” Nana warns. I peer at the tiny buildings facing the tall pine tree in the center of the globe as gusts of white snow swirl around them.
“I won’t break it, I promise,” I say before giving the snow globe another firm shove back and forth to kick up more snow flurries.
Nana shuffles over to the chair where I’m seated and holds out her hands, expecting me to return the antique knick-knack. I sigh but acquiesce, handing her the surprisingly heavy globe.
“The people living inside probably think there’s a series of earthquakes shaking up their homes.”
I shake my head and say, “Nana! No one lives in a snow globe!”
She carefully removes the glass globe and places it back in its home on one of the higher shelves of the bookcase, among several family photos and fragile figurines. “I see them come outside sometimes to look at the tree—three families. The one had a tiny little baby and a dog. If you listen real closely, sometimes you can hear them sing.” She leans closer to the bookcase, directs her ear at the globe, pauses for a minute, then looks at me and smiles. “You hungry? I can make some sandwiches for lunch.”
“Yes, thank you!” I reply. Once Nana leaves for the kitchen, I get up and race over to the bookcase. I stare at the little house and store next to it, waiting to see movement from the supposed people living inside. I listen closely, trying to hear anything over the racket of Nana in the kitchen. I can’t, let out a big sigh, and give up. But from the corner of my eye, I think I see something moving as I return to my seat. I rush back to the globe and stare at it some more. Was there a flicker of the fire in the fireplace visible through the little house window?
My concentration is broken by Nana announcing, “Lunch time.” I reluctantly leave the snow globe, vowing to recheck it later to see if I can catch a glimpse of the people living inside.
Snowbot
The battery in Clinko’s internal clock died a long time ago, so the robot was unaware of how much time had passed since its sensors last animated it. It gave a shrill beep as the visual sensors scanned the surrounding landscape. Gusts of wind whistled against the robot’s mic as it observed the quiet street of houses.
In a perfect world, the robot would have been able to survey the condition of the houses, detect the level of traffic and activity, and adjust accordingly. However, Clinko observed the one thing it was programmed to sense before initiating its work sequence: snow. Activating its motor, it pushed out the shovel extension and began rolling forward. It tilted the shovel blade slowly so the snow picked up from the sidewalk would fall harmlessly to the robot’s right side.
Clinko’s speakers played a merry little tune as it worked, and the snow continued to fall heavily. After completing its circuit around the deserted street, Clinko restarted from the beginning, plowing more and more fresh snow.
A small red bird perched on a low tree branch chirped at the little robot as it passed below. Clinko whistled back, imitating a bird call, and the red bird replied in kind.
Clinko wasn’t programmed to notice that the street plow hadn’t been serviced in over a hundred years and died more than a decade ago. The people living on the street had all moved away, and if it weren’t for the one still-operational lawn robot, the sidewalks would be as overgrown as the alleyways and backyards.
No—Clinko was only programmed to remove snow from the sidewalk, which it dutifully did every time its sensors detected flurries beginning to fall.
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