Prompt #15 - Snow

Winter Solstice

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Saturday night after the hockey game a blizzard blows up across the prairie and when the wind finally rests, our farmyard is transformed. Mounds and drifts of pristine crystal blanket the lane, cover the snowfence, bury the woodpile and willow windbreak. The bare black boughs of submerged scrub oak stitch the sky to ground.

 

The snowplow will take days to work its way to us; there is nothing to do but surrender and snuggle into the warm cocoon of home. Turning our backs on bold boys busy at snowforts and battle we dress our dolls for the expected journey. Babe in swaddling cloth and downy bunting. Bride in robes of cowled velvet, covered with flowing chamois cape; moccasins laced to the knee. Tinsel to halo her wild curls, to circle her tunic, keeping net of crinoline like folded wings, concealed. Swan-necked staff of crumpled tinfoil to assist her long march down shimmering diamond path.

 

Word arrives--the plow has made it through. If we walk to the main road, we can catch a ride to the Christmas Concert. We bundle in layers--toques, gauntlets, cloaks, scarves--and, just after supper, we three set out. The clean cold touching the bottom of our lungs creates a strange buoyancy.

 

Our flashlights pale in the moon's silver. In the days we have huddled inside, sun and wind have crusted the drifts. Now we are spared the breaking of trail. We walk atop the frozen crests. Mock desert dunes and we the magi pageant. Our star is the moon in whose caressing light soft landwaves glisten and glow--a white satin comforter.

 

In shoes of priestly ancestors we assemble round candlelit Tree to celebrate the glory of this longest night and herald, in concert, the magic, slow return of Light.

Copyright J.M. Bridgeman

* Michael Eudenbach photo used with permission. jmb