Snowball Cakes

A carpet of white light fell last night like frosting. It is in the yard, under the cherry blossom tree. The bushes are caked with icing like powdered sugar. We dip our figures into the batter to form round cakes. We play food fight with sparkling, slushy ingredients. My snow angel helpers have red, ruddy cheeks. They eat the fresh snow like dessert. Their eyes tear as snowball cakes explode in their outstretched mittens. They laugh in their snow boots, as they watch their chef father form a figure on top of a make-believe party cake. They topple this ice man with giggles and globs of iced cupcakes. The snowball cakes seep into the wet hard ground, and then they melt into the soft fluid forms of memories. And the ice man feels like he is baking and rising, even as he feels the fun dissolve into darkness, and as the icy water runs down his skin, the chef and his angels go back inside to warm and remember.