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A Christmas Story
This is the story of one Christmas I will never forget. I will relate the events as accurately as I can. This took place about five years ago, around 1988. I can still remember my mother telling me my Grandfather was going to die.
I was waiting in the Mt. Pleasant train station with my family, excited because I was going to see my cousin, Vanessa. Vanessa lived in Waukegan, Illinois, near Chicago, and I lived in one of those blink-and-you-miss-it towns in East central Iowa, so we couldn't see each other very often. So I sat quietly very happy, in spite of the reason she was coming down-- Grandpa had been very sick for a long time and had been taken from the hospital to die in his own home.
The train was coming so my family and I went out beside the tracks to wait. The falling snow made the train hard to see, but you could hear it and feel it's vibration through the tracks. The train pulled in. It was on time as the sign posted on the glass of the ticket booth boasted it always was. Many people stepped off including my aunt Tina with her boys Andrew and her baby Justin, as well as Vanessa and her sister Samantha who had ridden with Tina to help her with Justin.
Soon, all nine of us were piled into our old green Plymouth on the way to my grandparent's house, and surprisingly no one was very uncomfortable. The space in that car was somehow endless. The snow came down heavier and heavier. I looked through the windshield for the road, but couldn't find it. I couldn't even see the hood ornament. My aunt rolled down her window, letting in a cold gust of wind and snow, and stuck her head out through the window looking for mailboxes or signs to help my father stay on the road. My father felt his way along, and the distinction between gravel and pavement saved us from the ditch. We drove for forty miles without catching a glimpse of the road.
All of my relatives had made it to my grandmother's house safely, arriving from as far away as Georgia, to say goodbye to their father, and to spend time with their family, for it was Christmas. The blizzard tried to keep us from that house but failed, the need to be there was too strong. Nothing can keep a family apart, especially around Christmas-time.
When we arrived, every one was glad to see we were safe, and we were happy to see they had made it through the storm. The smell of food filled the house, as well as the love which bonds a family together and, also, joy mixed with Christmas spirit. The house took on a solemn air, however, when the grandchildren gathered in the living room to enter the bedroom, one at a time, and say goodbye to Grandfather. I felt uncomfortable doing that, so instead I watched as he said foreign things to my relatives, but soon left for the company of people who made sense when they talked. I never saw my grandfather alive again.
Evening came, and with it a high winds along with a major electrical storm, the only one I've ever experienced in the winter, the snow still falling heavily enough no one could get to the house to take the body away the next day. Somehow I managed to fall asleep during this battle of nature which matched the inner turmoil of my grandfather. Grandfather had been sick for years, and now he physically fought to stay alive, although he was mentally struggling to die. The rest I didn't witness, but it has been related to me by my father, whose eyes fill with tears when he recalls what happened the night his father-in-law died, only a few days before Christmas. At least one of Grandfather's children was with him at all times, keeping constant watch, in shifts, as the lightning illuminated the pain on Grandpa's face.... he was dying.
The snow swirled outside the window of the bedroom as my grandfather thought his last thought, the lightning flashed as he took his last breath, and the thunder shook the house as his heart beat one last time. Grandpa's favorite song, Silent Night, was with him as his soul floated to someplace better -- not one flake of snow fell, not a breath of wind blew, and not a beat of thunder sounded, for when my grandfather died, so did natures storm.
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Copyright ©1997 All rights reserved.
The Disaster
The mud soaked his clothes and chilled his bleeding flesh as he inched through the rubble. An inviting glimmer of light danced across the path ahead and he looked at it with hope. Someone must have found the generator, which meant that someone else had survived. He hoped that the light meant electricity and warmth and dryness. The fallen walls were only inches above him and he could only see a few yards ahead. He was glad he wasn't claustrophobic, but was Karen? She was the only one he had seen alive. I hope she's safe. He had met her in a passageway, before he realized how many must be dead. They had gone their separate ways, thinking they would soon find someone else who could help. It is strange we never talked before. He sat behind her every day in English class. Jason used to sit, entranced by the rise and fall of the instructor's oration, staring at that auburn hair in front of him for forty minutes. Thinking about English reminded him of how tired he was.
Where is everyone? Five-hundred students attended Washington Senior High. I don't want to be alone in the dark anymore. I'll find them soon. He pulled himself forward again until he reached the stream of light.
He entered a small chamber stretching only a few yards each direction, and Jason wondered what room it had been a part of. He stood, the ceiling dripping icy water into his muddy nest of hair. His eyes scanned the crumbling walls for the source of the light until they settled upon a window. He let out a disappointed sigh and his eyes fell to a ruddy stream trickling from a red-black mound of spaghetti squash. Jason walked over to it curiously as he did every time he approached the day's culinary delight. He touched the mound with his fingers and shrieked. It was hair, black, soiled, and bloody. His stomach churned as he backed away. He looked at the wall pinning down the disaster victim. With horror he scanned it and his bewildered eyes met an arm also crushed beneath the wall. The delicate hand told him the victim was female with pink painted fingernails and an elegant gold bracelet.
The hand was familiar, the bracelet was familiar, but Jason's clouded mind could not connect it to a name. His heart sunk and glanced around the room like a trapped rabbit. The room began to close in on him and his mind whirled with thoughts of what could have happened. Another look at the opposite wall, descending to crush his classmate, replaced his thoughts with panic.
What the hell has happened here? His silent scream seemed to echo and shake the remnants of the building. He opened his mouth, but no sound could come out. He raced to the window and smashed his knuckles against the glass. The glass would not break. Jason continued to look toward the light and thrust his fists into the unmoving pane. He wanted air and freedom and to look out upon the blue of the sky once again. He fought the pane until his hands were raw and streaked the glass with crimson. The new school windows were known for their durability. He collapsed to his knees. His heart beat hard against his ribs about to explode.
KAREN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The passionate cry sent tremors through his body, but Jason soon realized it was his imagination. No sound would come through his vocal chords. He had to find her, maybe she could find a way out. Soon he was on his feet and he ran to the crevice he had passed through earlier, then, dropping to his knees, he slithered back the way he came.
Jason pulled himself forward like a soldier in training, relentlessly moving farther and farther through the passageways. Nothing looked familiar. It was as if the whole place had shifted in the few minutes he had spent in the chamber. Madly he rushed through the debris, his clothing tearing with every motion. The passageway became so dark he could not see his hands in front of him. He pushed his way through the wreckage feeling the ceiling and the walls. They were always cold and damp. Jason began to shiver. It started as a tickle on his skin, but worked its way deeper into his bones. He moved faster trying to warm himself with movement, but the rocks ground into his skin bringing with them deeper coldness. His path seemed random, but something told him he was going the right direction.
Jason stopped. There was a single stream of light fell upon a glimmering number plate. It was a room number, 126. It was the number of his English room. He explored the wall with his hands, searching for tan opening. The stream of light led him to a two foot in diameter aperture. Putting his arms over his head, he began his dive into the hole. His hands went through easily and he pushed on the edge, pushing himself completely through. He looked up and saw a candle shimmering in the darkness. Hovered over it was a shivering figure. Her black hair glimmered black in the candle light. She held her hands over the flame. They were delicate hands with pink fingernails wearing a gold bracelet engraved with a name he could not make out. His mind flashed to her soft hair trapped beneath the wall and her smooth arm crushed. He shuddered and closed his eyes.
"Jason," he heard Christine say. That was her name, Christine. He had given her that bracelet earlier that day. His head began to pound as it filled with images of her brilliant smile and bright blue eyes. The face that had inspired nothing but a warm fuzzy feeling a few hours before now invoked a sick terror. "Jason." Somehow the voice was different. He turned to look at the girl he loved once again.
It was Karen. Her hair was not black but auburn. She smiled sweetly and suddenly he no longer felt cold. Her brown eyes were teary and her lips pale and quivering. "They're dead," her voice broke as she talked. Jason could only smile. The sound of another person's voice warmed his soul and brought the blood back into his numbing extremities.
"I'm so glad to see you," Jason said. The sound of his voice was strange to him. It couldn't quite fill the void of the room, but the warm glow of Karen's face seemed to fill the hollowness of the sound.
"Can we get out?"
"I haven't found a way." Jason moved to her side. Her bright eyes probed his face and she smiled weakly. She released a small chuckle as she dropper her eyes to the ground.
"We're going to die." The bittersweet tone was soft and serious, bittersweet. A tear rolled down from her smiling eyes leaving a pink trail glistening in the dim light.
Jason put his hands on her shoulders holding her firmly. Looking deep into her eyes he said, "We will find a way out." Karen smiled hopefully. "Come on," he said as he took her hand. Her warm moist fingers locked into his squeezing gently. He pulled her close enjoying the warm soft flesh against his skin. Jason moved his mouth to her ear, her hair tickling his cheek. "Let's get out of here," he whispered.
Karen relaxed, pulled away, and crawled into the darkness. Jason followed closely, his head nearly touching the rubber of her canvas shoes. She stood up and dropped her feet through the hole. Little by little her body disappeared into the crevice. Jason watched her carefully admiring the curving body. Her eyelids fell upon her eyes and he watched her muddy arms until all that remained were fingernails. Then they, too, disappeared into the darkness and Jason was left to stare at the muddy stone shining in the candlelight. She was gone. Jason launched himself through the chasm like an Olympic diver. He pulled himself through and did a somersault over the destruction. A thick black curtain of darkness blinded him.
"Karen," he said, afraid to be alone again.
"I'm here," a soft voice entered his right ear. He turned and reached for her. Her jeans were thick and slimy, but the firmness of a human leg was reassuring.
"O.K., let's go," Jason said removing his hand. He could hear the slosh of movement in front of him and followed so closely he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Jason's heart pounded in his ears and the sound mingled with the rhythmic movement over the rubble. The rhythm drove him like a battle cadence. It was mesmerizing.
"Light!" Karen exclaimed. "There's light ahead!"
We must be near the surface. They moved faster and soon Jason ran into Karen who had stopped cold.
"Flashlight..." She moaned softly. Jason felt the moisture of her arms around his neck and her head pressed into his chest. "It's a flashlight!" She pulled her head away and took the flashlight in her hands, using it to scan the sides of the tunnel. The walls had fallen over on each other making the opening; but farther up, the walls had been ground into rubble. Karen crawled up to the rubble and looked at it expectantly.
"I love the sky," she said softly. "I love the blue of the day and the stars at night. I could look at it forever. But this..." she panned the light across the wreckage. "I can't stay here. I have to get out," she said solemnly. Karen began clawing at the rock, pulling it down from above her throwing it to the other side. Jason looked at the growing instability of the opening and fear welled up inside him.
Karen! The cry would not leave his lips. He tried to reach for her, but his muscles were like Jello and would not move him. He tried to reach out for her and his face mirrored her terror as the rock begin to fall. "Karen!!" he screamed. The rock fell through the air, centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch. Karen moved her arms upward as if she was moving through quick sand, slowly to her shoulders, then her ears, and finally to her head. Jason began to reach for her, pushing against the thick air and the dragging time. His hand was but a few feet from hers and his fingers lengthened, reaching for the softness of her arm to pull her to safety. His hand grasped her arm amid the falling ruins and he drew her toward him. The rock fell around them and they scrambled forward to escape its deadly weight.
"Oh my god!" Karen screamed. "Help me, Jason," she begged.
"What's wrong?"
"My legs." Jason hugged her waist and pulled wit hall his might. She began sliding forward and soon she was free. Jason looked up at the ominous walls and saw them beginning to crack.
"Come on!" He shouted as he raced through the passageway. He could hear the rock falling behind them. "Karen are you okay?"
"Yeah," she panted. "Okay as I'm gonna be." Jason took comfort in listening to her breathing. He could feel the rumble of the building as it continued to settle. He pulled her sharply right though an unfamiliar opening and found himself in the English room once again. The candle sat where they had left it in the middle of the room, flickering in the turmoil. Karen crept in behind him.
"Oh," she laughed softly. "Back to where we started." The ground beneath them shook and Karen looked frantically at Jason. He wrapped his arms around her and her heartbeat became inaudible with he thunder of the falling rock. Dust filled the air and Jason looked to see the openings blocked by soaking plaster and brick. Jason pulled Karen tight and felt her shaking sobs against him. The convulsions slowed and soon she was breathing normally. The collapse had stopped and he could hear her every movement. Jason felt the curves of her body against him and realized this would be the last female he ever touched.
"You were right," he said pulling away enough to look into her eyes. "We are going to die."
Karen glanced at the candle whose flame was slowly lowering. "We're running out of oxygen," she said. She pulled close to him again. "For what it's worth, thanks for saving my life."
Jason smiled. "My pleasure. I would have never known you. You know," he added, "I always loved your hair, but you're beautiful all over." Karen giggled.
"Thanks," she said. Her ruddy eyes looked through his and into his soul. Jason could feel them warming him. He leaned closer and she met his lips with hers. Warmth covered him and his insides burned soothingly. Jason ran his hands over her back remembering the softness was his last. The room went dark. The candle was out. Karen pulled away and Jason knew her terrified look was melting into a smile. She pulled him close again resting her head on his shoulder. They held each other tightly. Jason could feel her tears soaking through his torn shirt. They stung his flesh, but they were human tears and it soothed him to know she was in his arms. Jason began to feel light headed. He could see Karen smiling through the mist of his fading memory. He kept breathing, yet his lungs burned. Somewhere a light entered his dark world.
"Jason." He felt the word tickling his ear. Is someone rescuing us? Hope surged through him. He wanted to open his eyes, but his eyelids were heavy. "Jason." Light streamed into his opening lashes. He looked on his arm where a beautiful hand lay. The nails were pink and polished; the bracelet was gold and engraved.
"Christine," he murmured looking up at her. There he saw the heads of many others in his class, a blackboard covering the front wall. Jason looked around the room and his eyes fell upon a mound of auburn hair shining in the fluorescent lights. Karen Schulman sat in front of him completely unaware of the ordeal he had just gone through with her.
"Wake up baby, the movie's over," Christine said to him.
"Uh, can I get the notes from you?"
"Sorry, I didn't take any," she said.
"Um, Karen? Could I get the notes from you?" Jason asked the mass of auburn hair in front of him. She turned around, her brown eyes glistening.
"Me? Oh, sure. It was about natural disasters." Karen smiled sweetly, got out of her seat, and, at the sound of the bell, left the English room.
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Copyright ©1997 All rights reserved.My Philosophy on Life
I handed an earlier draft of this to my sister. She thought it was a book report. I know reading books for English and Government may not be the most breathtaking experience, but it had a profound effect on how I view society, government, and the world in general. I have been struggling to justify my optimistic view of the world for a few months now. Finally, I have.
As I sat down to Christmas breakfast with my family, my thoughts were troubled. The world I thought I knew, I really didn't understand at all. I had lived a pretty sheltered life. Although I saw crime and violence every day on the news, nothing had ever happened to me to contradict my theory that people were really good and did the best they could with their lives. But the books I read for Government and English introduced me to a new view of society. What tormented me the most was that I couldn't argue with the account the writers gave. It suddenly hit me that people aren't always motivated by the common good or even improving the real quality of their lives, but rather by superficial success measured by money and power.
Jonathan Swift gave the most hopeless, grim account of the human race of anything I had ever read. I gathered that he perceived society as based on lies, immorality, and oppression. The character Gulliver became so disgusted with human kind after living with the horses that upon returning to England, he befriended some domestic horses and would not associate with his own wife. It made me sick. I knew our system wasn't perfect, but I never thought capitalism encouraged greed and using others to improve one's own status. I realized that in my beloved country, people were buying $10,000 dog houses while I served soup to people living in parks.
Marx's Communist Manifesto put our society into a new light for me. Economic gaps became clear and I began thinking about people I knew who worked in yellow-lighted factories and came home with ringing ears. If only our society wasn't so advanced they could be out hunting with their clans. Maybe Thoreau had the right idea. I didn't like Marx's solution, though. It seemed to take some choices out of life. Maybe it was just the commune of women that disturbed me.
In the Inferno, Dante said the Holy Institution was the most immoral institution on earth. I pictured the peasants of the past searching for a ray of hope only to be ignored or taken advantage of in the church's search for money and political power. Dostevsky showed me human weaknesses in Crime and Punishment. Sonia was forced to sell her body to feed her starving siblings and support her father's drinking habit. Her plight showed the suffering that takes place in the world and that human limitations only make it worse. Marmeladov, Sonia's father, could have bought some food with the money he spent on liquor, and he could have kept his job.
These descriptions of society left me wondering, "Why are we all here if there is nothing to live for? Is life nothing more than searching for relief of 80 years of despair? How could I have been so wrong about the world?" I considered my own life. Where in these books was the kind mother who cut her work hours to look after and educate her children at home?
Something wasn't right with these interpretations. Some beautiful part of life was missing, but I couldn't pinpoint it. I looked up from my plate of quiche. My mother smiled at me and I couldn't help but smile back. Christmas seems to bring out those loving glances. Then it hit me: that's what was missing. Love brings hope to the world and makes it bearable. There had to be more to balance the evils of the world, so I looked deeper.
Voltaire ended Candide with a bit of hope. When Candide stopped looking for happiness, he found it. He and his friends discovered by developing the talents (cultivating their gardens) they could find peace in a complicated, greedy, deceitful world. Aha! Talent. Talent brings enjoyment to life. Like singing. Singing warms me from the inside out and can comfort me in any situation.
There is another thing these guys left out: those people who magically appear and help you out when you are at your lowest, God's Angels. My ex-boyfriend came home from college one weekend so I went to visit him. We had grown apart and I came home in tears. My friend, Kristen, called me up and asked me to go to youth group with her, so I went. I think when life gets people down, they look for a crutch. Marmeladov turned to drinking. I turn to family, friends, and God. At the youth group, friends and God came together to remind me of what was really important. Not the past, but the present. Family, friends, love, Pink Floyd, singing, smiles, art museums, and hugs.
In Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzche said life is how you perceive it and nothing more. I decided we choose either to dwell on the horrors of modern society and the hardships of life, or to look at the miracles that occur every day. I chose to think more about Kristen's kindness and friendship than my ex's coldness. I'd rather be thankful to the person who let me out in post Hawkeye football game traffic than curse the intersection. Life is what one makes it and happiness is a state of mind. So I choose to be aware of the bad, but see the good. I choose to be happy for what I have. I'd rather live in a world of miracles than a world of despair.
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Copyright ©1998 All rights reserved.
On Singing
I live in a musical. I'm always singing. I sing in the shower, in the car, during class, in Hy-Vee . . . My sister always gets embarrassed when I sing in Hy-Vee. But what do Hy-Vee people expect when they play those orchestrated versions of pop songs? I think it's a cry for help, a cry for someone to sing the words that are missing from the songs. I love singing.
I was born singing. When I grew to be a toddler, I wanted to be a singer. I took Frere Jacque seriously. Singing in a round was highly complex, it wasn't kids' stuff like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, I had to concentrate deeply on my part so that I wouldn't be confused by the other singer(s). I would sing for anyone who would listen. I sang Jesus Loves Me all the time for my highly religious grandmother and I loved Christmas because there was always someone to sing carols to.
Sometime between the ages of six and eight, my church invited me to sing Amazing Grace in front of the congregation. Nothing could have made me happier. Of course the church choir was going to sing with me to " back me up"so that there would be enough sound so that something would actually be heard over the piano. To everyone's surprise but my own, my voice was loud enough for all to hear not only over the piano, but the over choir as well. This remains my greatest pride. Perhaps because I haven't gone to that church for almost ten years and the people there still remember me as the girl who sang Amazing Grace. They still tell people about it. The elders were touched by listening to an innocent child sing a song that describes the transition from darkness into the light of grace.
When I started taking French with my friend's mom, we learned lots of songs in French. I sang them so much that, although I've forgotten all the French I've learned by now, I still remember those songs. Since then I've been in concert choir, chamber choir, show choir, and church choir. I have also tried out for All-State, sung in honor choirs, participated in solo and ensemble contests, led sectionals, directed, and received vocal music scholarships. The most satisfying musical experience I've had, however, has been singing with my guitar playing friend Dustin. His incredible skills guitar skills enabled me to use my knowledge of chords and scales to improvise. I even learned how to sight-sing.
I sang in a band with Dustin for about five practices. I had to wail since I didn't have a microphone, which made singing classics like Mustang Sally and Chain of Fools on the roof of Dustin's clubhouse even more fun. Sadly, however, the Chuck Sand Band broke up due to the fact that Dustin and I were the only ones who cared enough to come to every rehearsal. I gained more skills while jamming with Dustin than while I participated in any other musical activity. I haven't retained these skills since I haven't practiced them, but at least I know they are there.
Now my pop solos occur waiting in line at the meat counter of Hy-Vee. People enjoy my voice more when I'm singing with Dustin or in a non-public place, but I have an excuse: I live in a musical.
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Copyright ©1998 All rights reserved.
In Unison
Snow glistens under the street lamps. In the distance, the sound of horse hooves emerges mixed with the gentle jingle of sleigh bells. Stars twinkle in the clear, dark sky. We gather around the fire, listen to the tone of the pitch pipe, and begin our tune. Suddenly the crisp air feels warmer and people wander toward the fire. Something about music draws people together. Enemies forget their differences. They enjoy the music; it becomes their common ground. Friends feel even closer, their friendship magnified by the songs they hear. Strangers talk to one another commenting on the carols. Hate disappears, peace prevails.
We continue to sing and as people stop by, they stop to listen. A magnetic force draws them in, at least for an instant. No one can escape it. The music pulls until one has no choice but to come near and listen. For as long as a person is trapped, he is connected with all those around him by the music. The cold is forgotten. Love radiates.
Waiting in line for the sleigh ride, I don't recognize anyone around me. I stand in silence sipping hot cider and munching pop corn. I climb onto the sleigh and sit on a hay bale next to someone I have never talked to. Soon, I begin to sing. I am no longer alone. The entire sleigh joins in the chorus. Everyone knows Jingle Bells. We are strangers no more. As we discuss what song to sing next, no one argues. Although some may enjoy some songs better than others, having the music to unite us is the most important thing. Soon we are all laughing, trying to remember what our lovers gave us on the tenth day of Christmas. Republicans, Democrats, the young, the old, the rich, and the poor unite. Music breaks all boundaries.
At youth group we sing of God's love. We all look at the projection screen to read the lyrics. Some multi-talented members play their guitars. People sway, feeling the beat, and while most of us sing in unison, some sing harmony. A connection forms between the fifty voices singing the same song. I feel God enter the room and we become one in God's love, one in God's song. The music unites us.
Everyone in every town and city across the globe looks at their clocks and watches. Alarm clocks go off around the world. For some it's midday, for some it's midnight. This event transcends all time zones. It's almost time. The people go to their desks, tables, and piles rifling through papers looking for the music to the song. Soon they find it. The words are in Latin, a common language that no one speaks, gives no nationality an advantage. They've heard the tune many times, they have been practicing. They meet with their neighbors, with friends, in town squares, living rooms, and parks. As the second hand approaches the twelve people find the starting note. Suddenly, it begins.
The entire world begins to sing of love and peace. War is postponed for the ceremony and suddenly the soldiers feel compassion for their enemies. The soaring voices can be heard everywhere. The strength of a united world is beautiful. The sound of a united world is beautiful. The peace of a united world is beautiful. World peace is achieved. Music connects us all.
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Copyright ©1998 All rights reserved.
Thirty-six Degrees
A clear, intoxicatingly blue sky hangs across the upper half of the image. A barbed wire fence cuts across the image, cuts through the snow, parallel to the bottom of the picture. Another cuts from the horizon and they meet, forming a T. The wire is not shiny like the kind they have on top of prison walls on tv, but rich, dark, rusty brown. By the large wooden post supporting the conjunction, the squares formed by the wire have been broken by the feet of those who climb over. Over the prairie grass, which pokes through here and there, lies a thick, heavy, snow. Footprints lead to the fence junction, but they are deep, as if the snow had swallowed a whole leg and had spit it out again. They lead to a girl, sitting on the big wooden post, her blond hair shining in the sunlight. She is looking up -- the top of her head is not visible -- the prominent feature seems to be the creamy white chin. Her hands distribute the weight of her body to her thighs, and her feet rest inside wire squares. Her shoulders are relaxed. The girl is me. I sit amidst the sun and snow and sky and the breeze fills me up and energizes me. I feel God's presence in the breeze, in the sky. I feel loved. I feel whole.
The post is actually comfortable. My feet sit lightly on the ancient barbed wire as not to break through it, and my gloved hands rest on my knees. The sun pounds into me, drying my damp jeans, heating my hair. I allow it to soak in, to drown me in its warmth and illuminate me as it does the snow and trees. I am looking up into the sky. There are no clouds sailing above me, only a crisp blue space that half looks like a giant, delicate piece of far away paper, and half looks like a blue haze reaching light years away. Through the space, like chalk across paper, cuts a white line. Not a clean line with distinctive edges, but a feathery line that dissipates as I look southward. Not a thought floats through my mind, I am left with only a hazy warm feeling.
Here, on the edge of my pasture, surrounded by fields, the air smells pure and crisp. In the autumn the air sometimes tickles my nose as the breezes pick up pollen and dust from the cutting of prairie grasses. Autumn smells dry, like hay and flowers and fallen leaves, musty yet full of fresh air. On winter days like these, none of those scents exist. The air smells a little like tree bark, but mostly like snow, like water -- fresh, clean, invigorating. I breathe it in, absorbing it, allowing it to cleanse me. I breathe out slowly; it's so warm I cannot see my breath. So warm that earlier, as I tried to cross-country ski along the path that brought me here, my skis stuck to the snow and instead of gliding along smoothly, gracefully, I jerked along and got nowhere. And I was hot. Upon returning inside to remove my skis, I stripped myself of my coat, my sweater, my sweatpants and was left with jeans and a long john underwear shirt. I left my gloves and earmuffs on because while 36 degrees was warm for my body, it chilled my extremities. I walked back outside quickly, taking in as much as I possibly could.
I saw the tips of plant skeletons in the flower bed, peaking out from the snow. I noticed the way a dark, wide walnut cut into the white of the snow, the blue of the sky. I looked ahead past the fences that used to keep the turkeys out of the yard, to the jungle gym my dad had pulled out of a junkyard for my sister and me. I used to wonder who this "Jungle Jim"e; was named after. Nostalgia flowed over me and I smiled. I used to enjoy these details of my childhood with my boyfriend, but he's gone now. The memory of his last visit cut through my mind: his sharp words, his aloof behavior. I am now alone, I thought, but the sun warmed me and comforted me and I walked on.
Not much had changed much since my childhood. The jungle gym was overshadowed by a maple that had long ago poked out of the ground a tiny sprout, but had survived 75 years of winter, hailstorms, lighting, deer, and farmers. I walked past the blue club house I had painted with flowers, past the garden which was now nothing but an open snowy space. The warm sun brought back the image of years past when, as a little girl, I had first felt nature loving me. "God is love," I had told my mother.
I walked past the faded red chicken house, and past the mulberry tree whose berries would stain the bottom of our bare feet blue in the summer. Now the trees branches were bare of leaves or berries, but the snow comforted it and I could see its strength, its spirit, its hidden life. I walked through the gate into the pasture.
When my family moved here, the pasture was nothing but prairie grass, but now it is dotted with the 200 oaks, walnuts, and evergreens that my dad and I had planted, and quite a few walnuts, straighter and taller than ours, that the squirrels were responsible for.
When I got to the top of a long slope, I looked at the sky stretching out all around me. It was clean and pure and mighty. I breathed it in and it gave me strength. Then I closed my eyes. I felt the wind on my back pushing me gently and I absorbed its energy, its life. It took no effort, the breeze gave freely of itself to me, lovingly. I felt the ground solid beneath my feet, beneath the snow, and took from its solidity. It lent its strength freely but remained strong. Tension drained from my body, anxiety from my heart. The cool air cleansed my soul. I felt nature, loving, all around me and as the sun beat down on me, it gave me warmth, gave me strength to be independent.
I opened my eyes to the brilliance of the warm sky, the glimmering snow, the rough trees. I ran. I ran slowly, awkwardly, because the snow reached my shins, but I had too much energy to be held back. I loved the way the wind felt on my face and the horizon moved toward me. I came to a set of drifts and I leaped over them. One drift caught my leg, the snow consumed my knee and thigh, and lurching forward, I fell into the snow. I laughed warmly as I crawled out of the cold snow and stood up. I continued running until I reached the corner of our six acre lot. I climbed up and sat on the post, where I sit now.
Now I can feel the strength of this warm winter's day melt into me. The hot sun and the surrounding snow and trees radiate love that bubbles up inside me until I burst into a smile. I look away from the sky, down into my neighbor's field where cattle graze in the summer time. Trees line the fence on the other side of the field at the bottom of a gentle slope. There's a place my sister discovered there she dubbed "heaven." One of the branches of a tree had been ripped and most of it lie on the ground. It remained attached to the tree, however, and soon healed and lives on. In the summer I used to sit on the branch amid layers of leaves by myself and rest my mind or with my sister or boyfriend and enjoy the serenity of the place.
The branch is bare now, but I can see it resting on the ground, nuzzled by snow. I compare the small branch to the vast expanse of sky and draw strength from it. Beauty surrounds me, it becomes a part of me and I become a part of it. Unable to contain my energy in stillness, I leap from the fence post into the snow and run toward the slope. There I extend my arms, as if to embrace the sky, and spin down the hill like a laughing top, filled with a vibrant youthfulness that can only comes to me from nature. I spin faster and faster and when I reach the bottom of the hill, I try to stop, but only wobble and fall. I laugh out loud and joyfully stare and the expanse of sky above me. The blue envelops me and I am lost in it. I am lost in peace. I am lost in love. I am lost in God.
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