Salvador Oria
Last Season of the Year
There before a winter's night
shall we see the fire bright,
'once upon' was said to all
so, so stories that befall
Humming birds have no yule
based around a candle fuel,
seek that snowflake white
after flying Autumn's kite
Winter, winter comes most cold
only for those brave and bold,
skiing high and low
no morning song for crude crow
Lovers warm sat watching sport
shivering weather has no thought,
patience is what none should fear
hark we say at xmas cheer.
Sabdasterd
Winter Witness
Something's going on. They're doing a lot of shopping, look at them - bags and bags of it being carried into the house! Brrr my feet are cold!
Maybe if I move a bit closer I'll see more (chuckle) they might even take pity on me! Eh?
Now what are they up to? What's that? A tree - a tree inside the house, (gasp) and they're hanging things on it ….. whatever next! Now they're putting boxes under it. Boxes all wrapped up in brightly coloured paper. I wonder what's inside.
Ooh that's actually quite pretty. Little lights on that tree, look they are flashing on and off, on and off, on and off, on and off, on and off - oh, what's wrong?
The big people don't look happy now. And where are the little ones tonight? In bed already? I expect helping the big ones put all those silly things on that poor tree has tired them out. Little horrors, always running around in MY garden shouting and screaming.
The big guy has given up with those tree lights. He's coming towards me. I'd better do my little act, maybe I'll get something tasty to eat.
Oh no - don't pull those curtains! Drat! I can't watch them now.
(Looks around startled by the noise of the backdoor being opened and shut.) Oh blast, he's put the bloody cat out! I'd better scarper, or I'll be for it. I don't want that greedy ginger tom to get me.
(Flies up to a nearby tree.) You can laugh. YOU try being a robin in winter - no wonder my breast is red ……. I'm surprised it's not blue!
© Christine L. Coles
More Winter: Cold Carol
[from an experience,
lost on the surface of a frozen lake in northern Minnesota,
blind and gradually freezing, hours of pain and fear]
.
small bells
distantly ringing
somewhere
across the snowbound lake
.
the drifts
keep rearranging themselves
as clouds of snow
swirl up in eddying breezes
crisscrossing
in our path
.
cold
enveloping
bitter coldness
.
we break a dissapearing path
leaving no trace
of where we have been
and no trace
of where we are going
.
only the sound
of the distantly ringing bells
urging us on
giving us hope
.
for no other sound
gives rise
to any expression of help
as we continue our attempt
to find freedom from the cold
.
as we at last
find the shoreline
defined only by the tree trunks
which emerge briefly from the snow
and disappear into the snowfall above
we crawl up the steep slope
gasping at the effort
in the deep drifts that surround us
.
suddenly
the bells stop
now
only the howling of the wind
and something else
which follows us
.
we shout
nothing
.
we cry out
nothing
.
then
as suddenly as they stopped
the bells
all around us
in every direction
many many more
tinkling and caressing our ears
.
they
are here
small shadows in the snow
childlike in size and manner
their ankles and wrists
festooned with bells
lovely
silver
bells
.
those behind us
crowd in on us
as those in front of us
give way
beckoning
.
we follow
the fear has melted
but the cold persists
.
the bells ring constantly
.
as we move
a pathway
appears
we follow
.
as we cross over
a small ridge
we are greeted by
hundreds of lights
moving ahead of us
but in the same direction
.
they flow in from all sides
and the sound of thousands of bells
is so thick you can lean on it
which our spirits already do
.
we notice now
hundreds of lights behind us as well
the small childlike figures
carrying them
flickering in and out of view
as the lights fluctuate
with some distant rhythm
.
we notice now
the rhythms in the bells
point counter point
weaving in and out of clarity
.
the cold seems lost somewhere
behind us on the frozen lake
.
hands take our hands
hands take our burdens
and carry them
hands touching us
hands beckoning us
small, childlike hands
.
for the past minutes
we have entered and are walking
through a canyon
deeply foliaged
the wind has ebbed to a moan
and as we round a bend
before us is a tapestry
of lights of many many colors
covering a long slope up
to a snow covered dias
fifty feet or more in circumference
at the center of which
a bright globe emits strobing rays
of pale blue fire
.
the bells are now almost deafening
as the rhythms pick up
and voices begin chanting
.
the chant is familiar
an old christmas song
from before the day of endings
a haunting story
of a cold winter's night
.
and then
She appears
taller and taller as She nears
.
She sings
the words, also familiar
we relax at last
and sit before her
on the white skins
the childones have provided
.
She smiles
and we feel our eyes closing
and as we gradually recline
into the softness
our thoughts drift
in and out of Christmas
the way of it before
love and family
together then
.
and so today
it ends
cold.
.
.
.
brulebilly
The entire room had to be swept, then vacuumed, then the wet cleaner from the local supermarket was hired and we washed the carpet, dried it with rented blowers and started on the walls. That's when I realised we'd done everything backwards, the ceiling should've been first. So we had to sweep, vacuum and wet clean again at the end. The room was ready though, spanking.
Our front door repainted last spring a lovely deep green, a circlet of birch branches sprayed silver with crystal encrusting the topmost area hung below the door knocker shaped like holly leaves - looked superb there. Magazine caption perfect.
Born in an inn stables, to working class parents, I had to make sure this wasn't going to have any unsavoury reminders of cattle dung or any feral dust. You wanted to make memories presentable, to commemorate with vigour and verve, and fifteen cleaning products some with snow tipped letters for the season.
Weary shoppers trawled through the mega-stores looking for anything marked down not too scuffed so they could wrap it again in gold foil or red and green stripes (saved from last year) and still keep that proof of newness, the packaging, to impress. I avoided their eyes, you can catch apathy, it's like cobwebs.
The child sat in the gap between the stores where the check out girls had their breaks and puffed a few minutes off their lives with menthols or super-lights. I noticed the feet, first, her scuffed black shoes, the toes worn to brown. Then the eyes, I felt like they singed me somewhere and flinched away. Bottom lip scarred and a graze on her cheek, but long thick dark hair, good enough to be in a shampoo commercial or something. Just shows you, everyone has a good point.
The next day she was there again, eating a pie from a white paper bag this time, but still sitting there hunched up and glaring at people who glanced her way.
Sweating lightly, I had to get a few boxes of reindeer with cross-eyes and some miniature plum puddings, plastic ones, to hang on the tree. We had the aim of putting something every square centimetre and the trinkets at Finkets this year were so cheap, not that I chose anything garish you understand. Lurid artifacts have no place during these celebrations as certain people should understand.
Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, I became a person who dreamt of shopping. Who trundled wire on wheels piled with colour through the night to dawn and awoke determined to get one last chocolate log drizzled with Grand Marnier fudge, and strings of lights that played Silent Night, as if you had a piano acordion in the same room. Wonders. Life has so many of them.
After a week of this mite being out there in all weather, eating takeaways mostly as far as I could see, and a fresh graze on her cheek the Friday, I saw I had to step in. There's only so much you can stand, and the rest of the mall inside so new, clean, fresh concrete paths, bright signs and shops, you noticed her out there, tired, hurt, cold.
I didn't wait around to be thanked or anything, you do your duty, don't you, not seeking praise. It took an hour, my friend told me, she happened to be waiting over the way for her cappucino and kept an eye out. Most efficient these days, they have scoops on the trucks and they're reasonably discreet apparently. Yellow truck pulls in, the scoop or net eases out, then the vagrants are gone, floosh, quite miraculous.
Like this time of year.
Araybright
Ruby
Ruby sighed as she watched them leave. It just wasn't fair! Every year she was left behind. She glanced across at the others. They didn't seem to mind. A couple dozed, others watched the flickering images on Mrs. C's television though her window. Ruby stamped angrily. They had no ambition! If only they'd help her, then maybe she'd get a chance to show off her prowess at the front of the team....
Ever since she could remember, everyone had told her how special she was, and how when she grew up she'd be important and famous. They all said it was as clear as the nose on her face, and then they would laugh. Loudly!
Ruby strolled over to take a drink. The still water reflected her image. She was very pretty, and her distinctive feature that set her apart from the others, didn't detract from her beauty. Sometimes she hated it, but she knew how important it made her. There was only one other ... if only he'd get sick and give her the chance to shine. A tear trickled down her face into the bowl.
What a dreadful thing to think. He was so nice. Handsome and strong too. Like all the females, she was a little in love with him.
Movement from the others alerted Ruby. Mrs. C. was on her rounds with special titbits for those left here with the plump white-haired elderly woman. Her husband would be busy working his magic tonight. It was her practice to make a fuss of those left behind.
The kindly lady spotted Ruby lurking miserably in the shadows. "Come along. Don't you want your treats?"
Ruby backed away further into the gloom.
Mrs. C. chuckled as she approached her. "You silly girl. You can't hide - not with your beautiful bright red nose." She patted the reindeer gently. "You know Rudolph is much stronger than you are. You're still a baby. Don't be so impatient!"
Ruby sighed sadly. Mrs. Christmas was right. Rudolph had been training her personally, mindful that the pretty doe would take over from him when he retired. He had even explained that Santa would need two extra reindeer on the Sleigh to help her - and they were only young too. Snowflake and Crystal trotted over. They nuzzled the sad special reindeer to comfort her.
Mrs. Christmas smiled as the trio accepted her tasty offerings. "There. You'll all get your chance eventually. Just you wait and see." She stroked their smooth coats fondly. "For now you'll just have to settle for keeping me company. You don't mind that - do you?"
Ruby looked solemnly at the smiling white-haired woman old lady, and solemnly shook her head. No, she didn't mind. After all, Mrs. C. got left behind every year, and always would. At least Ruby knew that one year her turn would come. She'd proudly lead the team of reindeer pulling Santa's sleigh, and guide them with her shining bright red nose, as they magically raced around the world dispensing joy, as millions of children slept. She smiled, and took another mouthful of treats from her friend, Mrs. Christmas.
© Christine L. Coles
Seasons Autumn 1 Autumn 2 Winter 1 Winter 2 Winter 3 Spring 1 Spring 2 Summer 1 Summer 2
