Quetzal rolled out the year’s first snowman this week, and here he is, bright-eyed and hopeful. I think he’s hopeful, although it could be he’s sad or maybe curious. You’ll notice he seems to be looking at something, something above him. That’s because he is. He’s looking at Quetzal. She’s stepped back for a second just now because she’s thinking about replacing his yellow nose with a green nose. She’s got the green one there in her glove. But the snowman, she senses, doesn’t like green. He likes yellow. It’s just that he can’t find the words to tell her so. And he can’t motion his feelings, either. So she’s stuck. She wants green, the snowman wants yellow, what to do. It’s his eyes, see. She can’t take her eyes off his eyes. She’s drowning almost in the pathos of them. Her little snowman with no arms even. But with light in one eye. And red winter berry lips.