Thursday Tales: A Winter Story

Hi bloggers,

This is a weekend edition of Thursday Tales. The story is a bit long but I hope you enjoy it. The winter subject is a nice way to cool off from the heat. The accompanying photo is by AtXU.

A fresh dollop of winter snow fell softly on our lawn, shimmering on the street below.

“The snow reminds me of sugar,” Rosie spoke affectionately, raising her face above a mug of hot chocolate.

“No, white frosting,” Peter shouted above her head. He shoved himself between Rosie and I, his dark eyes gazed longingly out the window.

“What about you, mommy,” Rosie asked. A chocolate mustache now appeared on her pink lips. I laughed and wiped the chocolate from her face.

“I think the snow is a wonderland,” I chirped excitedly. I gathered the children into my arms, like young chicks, and squeezed them into a bear hug.

“Winter wonderland. Like the song.” Rosie was tickled by my answer and hummed the tune in her head.

“Winter snow reminds me of a story,” I said in a serious tone. Their earnest faces gazed up at me in wonder.

“Tell us mom,” Peter shouted excitedly.

“Yes, please tell us mommy,” Rosie squealed. I nestled my chicks closer to me and soaked up their warmth.

“There once was a young man who loved a girl very much. He had fallen in love with her during the first winter snow. He watched the flakes fall on her dark hair. Her eyes were also dark, and her cheeks were blue from the cold. She wore a canary yellow coat, which danced and flickered in a sea of white. He asked for her name, and she replied with a laugh Sapphine. He buried her name deep in his heart.

“He made snow angels with young Sapphine, and she threw snowballs at his head. They played until the sun lowered its head beneath translucent snow. She kissed him goodbye, and it was icy and sweet like ice. He tarried longer in the snow and slid like a seal on his belly. He returned into town, but his bike was missing from where it once laid. The darkness fell upon him like stone, and the heavens ushered in a blizzard. The wind cut against his skin and beat him to the ground. The snow swallowed the legs beneath him, and his limbs turned to frost.

“He thought he would turn to ice and breath no more, but he beheld angelic light in the distance. An angel in yellow lit his path and melted the snow beneath him. She led him in the darkness, and he took refuge in a stranger’s home. In the morning, he rode his bike on the slippery ice, Sapphine wrapped around him, and they drifted home by winter’s light.”

I ended the story and gazed upon my children. Their eyes were wide as saucers, and their mouths formed into little O’s.

“Was the girl in yellow the angel,” Peter asked.

“It could have been,” I answered. “One can imagine it that way. That’s the beauty of the story.”

Peter is restless and swings himself off the couch. “I’m heading out,” he shouts huffily.

“Put on your boots,” I reminded him, resting a kiss on his forehead.

“Me too! Me too,” Rosie shouts, dressing beside her brother. They push past me in a ball of coats, hats, scarves, and mittens. I slide into my canary yellow coat and breath in the cold, wintry air. They sprinted on like shadows. I stood in the distance lighting their way home.