Rory's Winter Wonderland

Rory burst out of the front door with the momentum of a freight train. The little house on the hill shuddered at the impact of the recoiling door. With a bound Rory landed on the ground in front of the weathered steps. His eyes expanded to take in the scene around him. A rogue snowflake tickled his ear. His pursed lips melted into a widening grin. Rory bounded across the yard.

The snow settled underneath him as he flopped backwards into it and flailed his arms and legs wildly. Satisfied with his work he sat up and dotted the eyes and traced a smiling mouth. He was off again. The magical acre of field awaited behind the old dirt road in the distance. He just had to sneak past his granny’s house before she captured him and threw him in front of the stove to thaw. He envisioned her dilapidated homestead to be infested with trolls. This was, of course, the reason for her to live at the bottom of the road. Everyone knew trolls guarded magical places.

The morning sun was just peeking over the tallest pines. Rory still had a chance. He could see steam billowing from the house which meant Granny would be busy cooking breakfast. There was a rustle under the front porch as he crept beneath the windows. Rory plunged his hands instinctively into his pockets and pulled out a rolled up napkin. An old hound shook and stretched before coming to investigate Rory. The dog regarded Rory and turned it’s head up to bark.

“Shh,” Rory whispered. “Don’t tell her I’m here.”

He unwrapped the napkin and presented the dog with a warm piece of bacon in exchange for his silence. The hound sniffed the bacon and gently procured it from Rory before settling back in under the porch. Rory was free now. He heard the floorboards at the far end of the house creak and knew this was his chance to make a dash for the trees that lined the road.

The road was less of a road, but rather resembled a strip of indented white among snow covered pine trees, He hesitated for a moment. Some would say he was admiring the beauty. Rory was actually looking for the fairies that lurked in the woods. They were known to cause trouble. They routinely pulled pranks like hiding Granny’s best spade, for which he bore the brunt of the punishment. Confident there weren’t any lurking today he trotted down the road.

The field at the end of the road sparkled with untouched snow. Icicles hung from the trees forming an enchanted faerie gate. Rory ducked into the trees and went around the icicles framing the road. He didn’t want to risk summoning a faerie to his location. His goal was reaching the field full of snow to build his wintery kingdom. He at the very least needed to construct a wall from which to hurl snowballs at the woodland intruders.

Rory found the snow in the field to be perfectly suited for building blocks to form the wall of his fort. He had in fact constructed the entire square perimeter before he realized. This was fortunate as he kept hearing shuffling in the edges of the woods. He was nearly stocked with snowball ammunition when he realized that he would probably need some assistance if the fairies launched a full scale invasion. Judging from the noise in the trees they were likely amassing an army.

Rory rolled the snow into a ball that was easily half his height. He rolled a second ball and placed it on top of the first. He sculpted snowballs for feet and attached snowy arms. Rory worked like a master sculptor with the finest block of marble. He stepped back to admire his amazing bunny sculpture.

“I’ll call you Peter,” he said proudly. “Just like Peter Rabbit.”

The snow began to shiver and twitch. The now lively sculpted rabbit shook himself before hopping around. Rory laughed happily at the dancing rabbit-shaped pile of snow. He chased it around the walls of his fort. The rabbit bounced and frolicked. Rory eventually settled into his fort deep in thought. He looked at Peter intently.

“You know what we need, Peter,” he asked the rabbit rhetorically. “We need another friend.”

Peter nodded his rabbit head and groomed his icicle whiskers. The pair darted out into the field to find a fresh patch of snow. Peter helped him push the growing ball of snow. They made two large balls and four smaller balls. Rory went to work assembling them. Occasionally he stepped back to assess his progress before shaping the sculpture again. Peter looked on with amusement.

“There,” Rory said at last. “That should do it. What should we name him?”

Peter looked at the frozen statue of a bear. He looked intently at Rory. His icy little rabbit eyes twinkled intelligently.

“I think you’re right,” Rory agreed “We’ll call him George.”

George sprang to life in front of them. He rolled off his haunches and tested out standing on his hind legs. They wobbled a bit at first but then became sturdy. George lowered his front legs to the ground and bounded over to Rory. He slurped Rory’s already rosy cheek with his freezing tongue. George looked back at the woods with his ear cocked back.

“I heard it too,” Rory said while diving for the fort. “The faeries are coming.”

The three friends armed themselves with as many snowballs as they could hold. The footsteps in the woods drew closer. Rory held a snowball in the ready position. He counted down and signaled Peter and George to commence their attack. The snowballs flew. It was a glorious fight. The air turned white with falling powder.

Suddenly Rory was attacked from behind. He gasped and struggled to free himself. His opponent was strong. Rory wondered if a giant had captured him. He was dragged out of the protection of his fort into the snow that was once again beginning to fall from the bursting clouds. With Peter and George nowhere in sight he used his last defense. Rory went limp like a rag doll. He flopped into the snow with a thud. He looked up at his attacker.

“Dad,” Rory yelled angrily.

He looked around just in time to see a snowball come flying at them. His mom followed it in her craftily patched warm red winter coat and hat. He laughed as he balled up another snowball and launched it at her. Rory’s dad lifted him up and placed him on his shoulders. With the new trajectory Rory was able to land a devastating blow right to his mom’s head. She giggled and fell back into the snow as if she had been mortally wounded. Rory squealed with glee as she sat up and dusted the snow off of her coat.

“Time to get back home, little man,” his mom said sweetly. “The blizzard is moving in and Granny’s got you some warm cocoa with extra marshmallows by the heater.”

Still stuck on his dad’s strong shoulders Rory admitted defeat and gave the forward command pointing back toward the house. They took one last look out over the field as the snowfall began to pick up. Rory’s parents marveled at his creations. Rory waved goodbye to his snow sculptures. His parents looked puzzled but followed his lead and waved goodbye as well.

As they walked across the field to the road Rory turned his head lamenting his departure. He barely caught a glimpse of his friends waving through the snow. Rory smiled satisfied and his thoughts turned to warm cocoa.