Seasons Giving
A storm was
brewing. He could smell it. From a distant, he spied shelter. It was an old storage shed with a
breezeway. Stealthily, he approached
it. A crack appeared beneath the
weathered entrance door. He inspected
the crack and felt the warmer air emitting from the dark narrow opening. There was just enough space to craw through. Once inside, the skylight on the roof barely
made visible the bric-a-brac and bottles lining the side beams and
shelves. Avoiding the dust laden
cobwebs, he leaped onto a ledge and scampered up into an attic. The attic was filled with empty bins that
recently contained cartons of Christmas ornaments and colored lights. On the attic floor was a large cardboard box
on its side, its flap opened. The box
was crammed into an angled corner. It
looked inviting, but he was wary of things that looked inviting. It appeared innocent enough. He treaded softly with great caution toward
the opening and saw, to his great relief, the box half filled with shredded
newspapers. It looked welcoming. He went in, laid down, and promptly fell
asleep. He was more tired than cautious,
and one had to take chances now and then.
In his sleep,
he dreamt of warmth, of dried kernels of corn, of watermelon seeds, and
assorted nuts. He woke with a
start. It was dark and freezing. There were voices coming from below. It was the master and the mistress of the
nearby house, and they were arguing. He
smelt danger in the master but not in the mistress. They were stringing out the colored lights on
and around the bushes adjacent to the shed, and were now in the breezeway
underneath the attic. He became wide
awake. Suddenly, an arm reached up
through the opening of the attic, hunted around the attic floor, found and
snatched away a small wooden platform that had coiled wires attached. He didn’t notice it before because he was so
tired. There seemed to be food smeared
onto the tip of one of the wires. And
now it was being taken away! If he was
to survive, how could he let opportunities like that slip by him? It was the mistress’s hand that took away
the contraption.
The master
and the mistress were still arguing when they began to string the colored lights
around the edge of the shed roof. When
they came to the entrance of the breezeway,
the mistress went in. She found a
small ladder, climbed it, pulling the string of lights behind her. The master
was still protesting while she reached up into the attic and hung the string of
lights from a hook in the ceiling. She
left one light bulb touching the attic’s wooden floor. It was just a few feet from the cardboard box
that contained the frightened but hidden guest.
The colored lights brightened up the entire attic but more importantly,
it gave out warmth, a minute amount, but enough.
When the
mistress left, the uninvited guest crawled from where he was sleeping and
wrapped his body around the one tiny light bulb. The bulb’s gentle warmth coursing through his
body made him absolutely rapturous.
Suddenly, a hand appeared again through the opening to the attic. He was exposed! He was terrified and ready to bolt, but he would not move. He could not give up the ecstasy of the
glowing heat. Better to die now in warm
bliss then suffer gut wrenching cold and the slow death of hunger. He closed his eyes and waited for death he instinctively knew would follow.
None came. Instead, the hand
opened up and watermelon seeds, dried corn kernels, and assorted nuts were
scattered all over the floor. Again, it
was the mistress’ hand and it smelled friendly.
By the next
day, the dark storm brewing on the horizon finally came, blowing sheets of
freezing rain rattling off the roof, driving its cold breath beneath the
weathered entrance door. But the
uninvited guest was safe and warm…and well fed.
Even in that storm, he could hear choirs singing in the distance, the sound
of music amongst the roar of wind and rain.
He snuggled into the dry nest he made of the shredded newspapers and
sighed with contentment ……and for that
one week, of his very short life, he was as close as can be to feeling
loved.
Merry Christmas and a
Happy New Year…and
Thank you, Valerie for handling sales that
gave me the time to write this….
Merry Christmas and a
Happy New Year…and
Thank you, Valerie for handling sales that
gave me the time to write this….
Seasons Giving
He could feel
in his skin that it was to be an icy winter.
His family was scattered over the country side or mercifully dead, but
in either case, they were gone. The
gentle warm summer was gradually and imperceptibly disappearing and the cooling
have begun. He was alone now, alone and
frightened. Food was becoming scarce
and, more and more, he had to exposed himself to acquire what little nutrients
that were available. Body fat was
needed: the chill was coming. He had to
prepare for the starvation that was to follow.
And he had to be cautious. There
was danger screaming out of bright blue skies.
At night, the danger would be silent.
There was danger in every open field, in every deep crevice, in every
seemingly safe shelter. Nothing
instructed him of the menaces lurking behind every bush, every tree, every
corner. No, his acute sense of danger was
instinctive. If he had experienced the
actual danger, it would have been far too late.
In his world, there was never a second chance.
A storm was
brewing. He could smell it. From a distant, he spied shelter. It was an old storage shed with a
breezeway. Stealthily, he approached
it. A crack appeared beneath the
weathered entrance door. He inspected
the crack and felt the warmer air emitting from the dark narrow opening. There was just enough space to craw through. Once inside, the skylight on the roof barely
made visible the bric-a-brac and bottles lining the side beams and
shelves. Avoiding the dust laden
cobwebs, he leaped onto a ledge and scampered up into an attic. The attic was filled with empty bins that
recently contained cartons of Christmas ornaments and colored lights. On the attic floor was a large cardboard box
on its side, its flap opened. The box
was crammed into an angled corner. It
looked inviting, but he was wary of things that looked inviting. It appeared innocent enough. He treaded softly with great caution toward
the opening and saw, to his great joy, the box half filled with shredded
newspapers. It looked welcoming. He went in, laid down, and promptly fell
asleep. He was more tired than cautious,
and one had to take chances now and then.
In his sleep,
he dreamt of warmth, of dried kernels of corn, of watermelon seeds, and
assorted nuts. He woke with a
start. It was dark and freezing. There were voices coming from below. It was the master and the mistress of the
nearby house, and they were arguing. He
smelt danger in the master but not in the mistress. They were stringing out the colored lights on
and around the bushes adjacent to the shed, and were now in the breezeway
underneath the attic. He became wide
awake. Suddenly, an arm reached up
through the opening of the attic, hunted around the attic floor, found and
snatched away a small wooden platform that had coiled wires attached. He didn’t notice it before because he was so
tired. There seemed to be food smeared
onto the tip of one of the wires. And
now it was being taken away! If he was
to survive, how could he let opportunities like that slip by him? It was the mistress’s hand that took away
the contraption.
The master
and the mistress were still arguing when they began to string the colored lights
around the edge of the shed roof. When
they came to the entrance of the breezeway,
the mistress went in. She found a
small ladder, climbed it, pulling the string of lights behind her. The master
was still protesting while she reached up into the attic and hung the string of
lights from a hook in the ceiling. She
left one light bulb touching the attic’s wooden floor. It was just a few feet from the cardboard box
that contained the frightened but hidden guest.
The colored lights brightened up the entire attic but more importantly,
it gave out warmth, a minute amount, but enough.
When the
mistress left, the uninvited guest crawled from where he was sleeping and
wrapped his body around the one tiny light bulb. The bulb’s gentle warmth coursing through his
body made him absolutely rapturous.
Suddenly, a hand appeared again through the opening to the attic and,
although he was terrified and exposed, he would not move. He could not give up the ecstasy of the
glowing heat. Better to die now in warm
bliss then suffer gut wrenching cold and the slow death of hunger. He closed his eyes and waited for the death
blows he instinctively knew would follow.
None came. Instead, the hand
opened up and watermelon seeds, dried corn kernels, and assorted nuts were
scattered all over the floor. Again, it
was the mistress’ hand and it smelled friendly.
By the next
day, the dark storm brewing on the horizon finally came, blowing sheets of
freezing rain rattling off the roof top, driving its cold breath beneath the
weathered entrance door. But the
uninvited guest was safe and warm…and well fed.
Even in that storm, he could hear choirs singing in the distance, the sound
of music amongst the roar of wind and rain.
He snuggled into the dry nest he made of the shredded newspapers and
sighed with contentment ……and for that
one week, of his very short life, he was as close as can be to feeling
loved.
Merry Christmas and a
Happy New Year…and
Thank you, Valerie for handling sales that
gave me the time to write this….
