Friday, December 16, 2016

Seasons Giving




                                                                   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 deep blue skies.  At night, the danger would be very 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 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….

                                

 

No comments:

Post a Comment