The Lake
of Dissolved Effigies
By
Kevin S. Mahoney
It
was one of those things no one thought about, like the lint under the
refrigerator, or who cut their barber’s hair.
Thousands were made, every year, in any location that would support the
art form. Generation schooled generation
on the process, families united in cold purpose. Every form was unique. Each artifact was personalized, sculpted by
its creators from their environment.
Each building block was unlike every other one, from the macroscopic to
the microscopic level. Molecules were
connected, melding from the warmth of the people, changing according to their
whims, each form distinct and temporary.
Those
billions of connections of simple molecules, combined with the energy and
purpose of so many over many years, had a cumulative effect. The structures began to interact slowly, over
the long term, with each other. They
weren’t alive, or awake, simply barely aware.
But that awareness was parceled out over thousands of miles, hundreds of
artifacts each year, piling upon itself for decades. There was no intelligence, but there began a
funneling, a gathering, a stockpiling of similar parts. Like ants in a line, or birds flying in
formation, like called to like and they began to gather, despite all known
physical laws.
The
Earth helped, inadvertently. The
individual bodies that began to coalesce couldn’t do it when in solid
form. But as the solstice surged towards
the equinox, solids became liquids, and liquids took flight as vapor. Clouds were their carriers. Rain was their call to action. The united army of a colder time began to
mobilize as one fluid, their base of operations an unpolluted lake in a small
tourist town.
The lake was not centrally
located. The campground around it never
made any glossy magazine’s top 10 list.
It was large enough for small boats, and small enough to hike all the
way around between breakfast and dinner.
But as time passed, and the army of winter soldiers began to compose
more and more of it, the people who visited noticed something unusual. It seemed too cold for some, but others
always found it warm. The temperature of
the water was studied, and no deviation from the surrounding bodies of water
was found.
But
if you had never played in the snow, never sledded down a hill, never shivered
with thoughts of hot chocolate steaming up from your winter hat, never built
one of their kind, the lake was always cold.
If the part of the lake that had awoken recognized you, it held you in
its velvet soft grasp, and returned the warmth and love you gave them, possibly
years ago. It was a gift as silent as
its givers, the warmth of the snowmen returned to their creators, in the hope
that once winter fell once more the cycle could continue, and the joy and art
would spread.
Miscellany:
·
This tale (if you can call it that) was inspired
by a lot of odd snowmen stories circling my mind lately. The evil monsters from last Christmas’s
Doctor Who were in there somewhere, as was Frosty, of course. I thought of phase changes as a transition,
subject of the latest vlog of Nika
Harper. So this is sort of my entry
for that edition of Wordplay.
·
I listened to one track (over and over) from the
new Neil and Amanda 3 pack of CD’s while writing this, Ukulele
Anthem. I didn’t really think this
piece was going anywhere but that song prevents discouragement for some reason.
·
Oh yeah, I have a Tumblr now. I may end up just cross posting everything,
and then again I may not. Watch my
twitter @TheSagest. I’m sure I’ll mention all new postings there
anyway.
·
Finally (and once again) I’m kind of sick of
getting no comments. Somebody out there
has something to say, I bet. Use the
various links on the various pages, or write me at thesagest77@gmail.com. You can do it. I have faith in you!
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