us,” she whispered.
Read an extract from
Sara’s snowy adventure…
T he garden looked like an illustration from a fairy tale. Sara had seen snow before, of course, but this was so deep, and so clean and new, that everything shimmered and sparkled in the thin, clear sunlight.
“I hope it doesn’t melt,” Sara said to herself, glancing up at the sky. But it didn’t feel like it would. The sunshine hardly hadany warmth in it, and she was cold, even wrapped up in her coat and long scarf. She stepped out on to the grass. At least, she thought it was the grass. She had to step carefully – she could have been standing on anything. Sara held out her hands to steady herself. She was glad that Grandad didn’t have a pond – she might walk out into the middle of it in this.
“This is definitely the bit of grass between the roses and the wall,” Sara muttered to herself, frowning and trying to remember the layout of the garden. She knew exactly what it looked like, almost as well as she knew her garden at home! But she’d never tried to walk round it blindfolded, and that was what it felt like.
The snow crunched and squeaked under her boots as she tracked acrossthe lawn, admiring her footprints. It was about twenty centimetres deep, she thought. Not quite high enough to go over the top of her boots. But not far off.
Sara turned and looked back at her trail. The prints were really crisp, as though she’d shaped them with a knife. The snow was calling for her to build something in it. But not just a snowman. Somehow that wasn’t right for the magical feel of the morning. Sara moulded a snowball thoughtfully, pressing it together between her gloved hands, and enjoying the feel of the snow under her fingers.
Then she smiled. Of course. Grandad’s story last night. She was going to make a snow bear.
Once she had the idea, it came easily. The snow was a little powdery, but it heldtogether well enough, and the shape she had in mind wasn’t very complicated. Sara loved polar bears and she had lots of toy ones at home, of all sizes, and a little notebook with a polar bear photo on the cover.
The bear was sitting up, almost like a boy slouching against a wall, with his hind paws stuck out in front of him. So it was easy enough to heap up a mound of snow to be his back, stretching it out into two fat back paws. The head was harder – when she tried to build the snow out into a pointed bear face, it just fell off. In the end she rolled a sort of triangular snowball, and balanced it on the top, with little snowballs for ears. Then she shaped some of the body into front paws, hanging down at the sides.
Sara stood back, admiring her bear. He was almost finished, but there was something missing. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, and then sighed. The eyes. She needed some little stones, or something like that – but everything was buried under the snow. She glanced around, and managed to find a couple of dark, withered rose leaves, still just about visible under the snow covering the bushes. She pushed them into place on either side of the long white muzzle, but they didn’t look quite right.
Someone laughed behind her, and she turned to see Grandad standing in the doorway.
“He’s fantastic, Sara!”
She grinned at him. “He is nice,” she agreed. “But he isn’t finished, Grandad.His face looks wrong. It’s mostly the eyes. I can’t find anything to make them out of.”
Grandad nodded, and then rubbed his hands together. “I know. Give me just a minute.” He hurried indoors, and came back, smiling, holding out a hand to her.
Sara tramped to the door, feeling the cold now that she’d stopped building. “Oh, they’re perfect,” she said delightedly, picking the bits of green sea glass from Grandad’s hand. “I should have thought of that. Can I really borrow them? Won’t they get lost in the snow?”
Grandad had a jar of sea glass on the kitchen windowsill, all shades of green, and even a
Read an extract from
Sara’s snowy adventure…
T he garden looked like an illustration from a fairy tale. Sara had seen snow before, of course, but this was so deep, and so clean and new, that everything shimmered and sparkled in the thin, clear sunlight.
“I hope it doesn’t melt,” Sara said to herself, glancing up at the sky. But it didn’t feel like it would. The sunshine hardly hadany warmth in it, and she was cold, even wrapped up in her coat and long scarf. She stepped out on to the grass. At least, she thought it was the grass. She had to step carefully – she could have been standing on anything. Sara held out her hands to steady herself. She was glad that Grandad didn’t have a pond – she might walk out into the middle of it in this.
“This is definitely the bit of grass between the roses and the wall,” Sara muttered to herself, frowning and trying to remember the layout of the garden. She knew exactly what it looked like, almost as well as she knew her garden at home! But she’d never tried to walk round it blindfolded, and that was what it felt like.
The snow crunched and squeaked under her boots as she tracked acrossthe lawn, admiring her footprints. It was about twenty centimetres deep, she thought. Not quite high enough to go over the top of her boots. But not far off.
Sara turned and looked back at her trail. The prints were really crisp, as though she’d shaped them with a knife. The snow was calling for her to build something in it. But not just a snowman. Somehow that wasn’t right for the magical feel of the morning. Sara moulded a snowball thoughtfully, pressing it together between her gloved hands, and enjoying the feel of the snow under her fingers.
Then she smiled. Of course. Grandad’s story last night. She was going to make a snow bear.
Once she had the idea, it came easily. The snow was a little powdery, but it heldtogether well enough, and the shape she had in mind wasn’t very complicated. Sara loved polar bears and she had lots of toy ones at home, of all sizes, and a little notebook with a polar bear photo on the cover.
The bear was sitting up, almost like a boy slouching against a wall, with his hind paws stuck out in front of him. So it was easy enough to heap up a mound of snow to be his back, stretching it out into two fat back paws. The head was harder – when she tried to build the snow out into a pointed bear face, it just fell off. In the end she rolled a sort of triangular snowball, and balanced it on the top, with little snowballs for ears. Then she shaped some of the body into front paws, hanging down at the sides.
Sara stood back, admiring her bear. He was almost finished, but there was something missing. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, and then sighed. The eyes. She needed some little stones, or something like that – but everything was buried under the snow. She glanced around, and managed to find a couple of dark, withered rose leaves, still just about visible under the snow covering the bushes. She pushed them into place on either side of the long white muzzle, but they didn’t look quite right.
Someone laughed behind her, and she turned to see Grandad standing in the doorway.
“He’s fantastic, Sara!”
She grinned at him. “He is nice,” she agreed. “But he isn’t finished, Grandad.His face looks wrong. It’s mostly the eyes. I can’t find anything to make them out of.”
Grandad nodded, and then rubbed his hands together. “I know. Give me just a minute.” He hurried indoors, and came back, smiling, holding out a hand to her.
Sara tramped to the door, feeling the cold now that she’d stopped building. “Oh, they’re perfect,” she said delightedly, picking the bits of green sea glass from Grandad’s hand. “I should have thought of that. Can I really borrow them? Won’t they get lost in the snow?”
Grandad had a jar of sea glass on the kitchen windowsill, all shades of green, and even a
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