I see the abominable snowman in my window. It is only October and we haven’t had any snow on the ground since last February. The temperature outside is in the mid-50s. Yet there he is, watching me, framed by the yellow leaves of the gum tree behind him.

I’ve stared at this particular window in my office many days, many hours. And although this is the first time I’ve seen him, I think he’s been there all along.

The window is in terrible shape. It’s one of those plexiglass, bulging-out types that looks more like a skylight. It opens and closes with a crank that never opens or closes it completely. At its widest angle it fails to catch a breeze in the summer. Yet in the winter, the ever-present cobwebs in its corners shimmy in the icy draft.

The abominable snowman doesn’t look angry. He has an icicle beard and beady eyes. His mouth is open but it doesn’t appear that he wants to eat me (do abominable snowmen eat humans?). I think he is saying, “Hey, do you have any guacamole?”

As I look closer his ice-beard seems to be melting making little icy rivulets on the plexiglass. That makes me sad. I should go check to see if we have any guacamole in the fridge.

But wait. Over his head – is that a cloud or a halo? I squint, tilt my head, look down and back up quickly. Well this is just great. Now I’ll never be able to replace the stupid window. The abominable snowman has turned into Jesus.