the giants sleep as the snow comes down
covering their lumbering bodies in sheets
of frozen white. their warm breath
carves holes in the unbroken
rolling hills, melts snow into runoff.
the giants sleep as the village children
come to explore the new snow-covered hills
drag heavy sleds up to the highest peaks
perch on broad shoulders, rounded hips, the tips
of bulbous noses, before hurling themselves into the air
crashing against the stunted trees down below.
when spring comes, the giants will awake
shake free the last bits of melting ice
before pushing up against the ground to stand.
they’ll see the fires of the nearby village
hold serious, heated discussions on whether to destroy
the tiny houses, the tiny people, or just ignore
the miniature urban landscape entirely
and go back to their own colossal homes, their monstrous families waiting
in the mountaintops, hidden by banks of billowing clouds
far, far away.