Sprinkle in the Backyard

Amir rolled and rolled. The snowball stayed the size of a grapefruit.

He pushed it across the small backyard, past the birdbath and the empty flowerpots. A little snow dusted his mittens. The rest flew away in a white puff.

“Maybe it needs a bigger push,” said Sadie, his neighbor, who stood beside the gate in a red hat with two long flaps.

Amir leaned into the snowball and pushed. It wobbled, rolled half a turn, and broke into three crumbs.

“Oh, crumbs,” he said.

Sadie picked up one crumb and placed it on top of another. The pieces slid apart like tiny marshmallows.

Amir looked across the yard. He had imagined a tall snow creature with a round belly, a smaller chest, and a great big head. It would be taller than the garden fence—or at least taller than Sadie’s hat.

“We can make one together,” he said. “A really tall one.”

“Then we’ll need really big snowballs,” Sadie replied.

They tried again. Amir rolled a handful on the path. Sadie patted a little snow into a ball between her mittens. They pressed their balls together.

“Roll it, pat it, press it—one piece at a time!” Amir sang.

But the balls fell apart before they could become a creature.

The snowfall had been light, and the snow on top was fluffy and dry. It sifted through their fingers instead of sticking together. Amir tried pressing harder. Sadie tried rolling slower. The snow still scattered.

They looked at the lonely grapefruit-sized ball between them.

“Maybe the creature should have a tiny body,” Sadie suggested.

Amir pictured a snow creature no bigger than a teacup. It was a funny idea, but he still wanted a tall one. He glanced at the hedge along the back fence. Snow lay beneath its low branches, where the yard’s bright flakes had not reached.

“Let’s look over there,” he said. “Maybe the snow is different under the hedge.”

Sadie followed him across the yard. They ducked beside the branches and peered at the shaded patch. Amir touched the snow with one mitten. It felt damp and packed together beneath the fluffy surface.

His eyes widened. “Sadie, this snow might hold!”

Amir scooped up a small handful from beneath the hedge. The snow felt cool and slightly damp inside his mitten. He pressed it between both hands. It stayed together.

Sadie tried, too. She made a little ball, then gave it a careful squeeze. It held its shape.

“This snow is different,” she said.

Amir nodded. Snow with more moisture could clump together more readily than the dry, powdery snow scattered across the yard. They had found just the kind they needed.

They took a few small handfuls each, leaving plenty beneath the hedge. Then they pressed the snow into sturdy balls, one at a time.

“Roll it, pat it, press it—one piece at a time!” they sang.

First came a round, solid ball for the creature’s bottom. It was not enormous, but Amir and Sadie made it wide and sturdy. They patted its sides until it sat firmly on the ground.

“Piece one!” Sadie announced.

Next, they shaped a smaller ball for the middle. It leaned a little to the left when they set it on top.

“Piece two!” called Amir. “It’s already dancing.”

They pressed a little snow between the two balls to help them stay together. Then they made a round head, smaller than the middle but still plump. Sadie lifted it with both hands while Amir guided it into place.

The head tipped toward the garden fence.

“Careful!” Sadie said.

Amir steadied it. For a moment, the whole creature wobbled. The bottom held. The middle held. The head gave a slow, silly bob, then settled.

They stepped back, holding their mittens ready in case it leaned too far. It was lopsided, with a belly that bulged on one side and a head that tilted the other way.

“It’s not the tallest snow creature ever,” said Sadie.

“But it’s taller than my hat!” Amir said. Sadie stood beside it. The creature reached almost to her shoulder.

They found a thin twig near the fence and pressed it into the face for a smile. It curved upward at one end and drooped at the other, as if the creature had just heard a funny joke.

Amir looked at the crooked smile and the wobbly head. “Let’s call it Sprinkle.”

“Hello, Sprinkle,” Sadie said.

The snow creature stood quietly in the yard, a little crooked and completely theirs.

Amir and Sadie stayed beside Sprinkle for a while. They did not need to fix its tilted head or smooth every bump. Its funny shape made them smile each time they looked at it.

A breeze moved through the bare branches above the fence. A few loose flakes slid from the hedge and landed on Sprinkle’s wide shoulders. The twig smile stayed in place.

“Do you think Sprinkle likes being lopsided?” Sadie asked.

“I think that’s how it likes to stand,” Amir said. “It can see the birdbath and the back door at the same time.”

Sadie leaned closer to the snow creature. “And it can hear the birds.”

A small bird hopped onto the fence, gave one quick chirp, and flew away. Amir and Sadie watched it go. Sprinkle seemed to be listening, too, with its head tipped toward the quiet yard.

The afternoon slowly grew dimmer. The flowerpots turned into dark shapes, and the snow along the path looked blue-gray. Amir brushed the snow from his mittens. Sadie patted one last bit of powder from Sprinkle’s side.

“We made all three pieces together,” Amir said.

“And we found the snow that could hold them,” Sadie replied.

Amir glanced toward the hedge. Only a few little scooped places showed beneath its branches. The rest of the snow stayed tucked safely under the leaves.

From the back door came a warm square of light and the smell of supper. Amir and Sadie walked across the yard, turning once to look at their creation.

“Goodnight, Sprinkle,” Amir called.

“Save us a smile for tomorrow,” Sadie added.

They waved from the doorway. Sprinkle stood in the small backyard, its crooked twig smile turned toward the house. Amir stepped inside, and Sadie headed home next door. The door closed softly behind them, while outside the snow creature kept its watch over the quiet yard.