What Light Is

sweet

puff

mellow

fluff

love

this

Angel

sunshine

rough

Sometimes life is just hard, and yesterday and today have been those days… one of my four birds, a sun conure named Angel, became very sick very quickly, and then began to seizure. I rushed her to the exotics vet about 45 minutes away and she kept fighting the whole way, cuddled to my chest so she wouldn't fall off the seat. The vet gave her some anti-seizure medication and oxygen and she finally became peaceful. I hoped she would snap out of it, but instead, she passed away. I brought her home in a little white box.

It’s devastating for her mate, Phoenix, and of course the rest of the family. Conures and caiques are social and loving creatures, and they bond with each other and us—we’re all one big flock together. Take away one and there’s a gaping hole in the balance. Not sure what we’ll do in the next few days, but meanwhile, Phoenix is getting spoiled rotten, snuggling inside my shirt and being passed person to person, with brief meals and drinks in his cage. Birds were never meant to be alone.

Neither were we, and in the context of the season, I want to share how Angel’s life is such a bright spot in mine—she was the happiest, most content bird that ever lived, and she let me bask in it every day. I'm so grateful for the hours we spent together. I suspect she’s even happier now, having filled her life’s purpose by creating joy in ours. She was amazing and tough and so gentle.

I’m even more grateful for a God who doesn't leave us alone. He loves all of his creatures, including us, and He spent his life serving and healing and giving hope to his fellow men. He continues to bless us with the families and relationships we have, with the beauties of the earth and heavens, and with lessons of life and its value. I’m grateful for his Spirit that brings us peace and comfort in times of need… indeed, every day, and especially during the Christmas season. He is my light, and He is so kind.

Have a wonderful, merry Christmas... it really is a time to celebrate life's beauty and joy. :)

—Elm

Re: The True Story of Santa's Elves

Well, 200 feet of Christmas banner for tomorrow's church brunch later, I admit my Intergalactic shopping trip didn't quite get finished. I hope you'll accept this Christmas story from last year's Friday the 13th... but I wouldn't change the date even now, those poor elves need some glimmer of hope! --Elm

Whispers and muffled patters of hands connecting in elf-greeting swept through the cave of ice. "Today is the 13th... the 13th... it's our day to celebrate. Not the full power of the solstice, since Santa is suspicious, but the 13th will do. Friday the 13th has power, too."

A hush echoed as thickly as the whispers had, as a burst of cold light erupted at the center of the cavern. It came from a tower of ice carved into a figure as thin as an icicle, with clear, cold eyes. Tapping sounded from a walking staff as a tiny body ascended the steps carved into the sculpture. Despite the stick, his steps were agile, and the hush grew expectant.

At the top, their Elder raised his staff and light flared again from the tip. He set it into a sconce beside him, illuminating the gnarled skin that was as tough as the wood of a Christmas tree, the pointed hat, and the beard that wrapped around his body from chin to curled slippers, as white as the whitest snow. A breath of pleasure spread through the cavern. It was rumored that Santa was inspired by the beard of the Elder's Elder in days of yore, which is where the tradition of the Christmas tree had come, not to mention Santa's own, trying beard.

The Elder raised his arms and the stir settled.

"We assemble here to recall our deepest roots," he spoke. "We gather to show the ice king that we have not rejected our heritage. Snow and ice claim our true identities as the children of Father Frost."

A cheer rose from the elves, and the Elder thumped his stick. "Hear, now, the tale of how Father Frost's name was usurped by Saint Nicholas, the stranger to our frozen land."

"As night subdued the sun and bade it sleep beneath the ice, Winter called us from our deep caves, and we emerged, hungry and eager to do his bidding. Mischief we caused... fires decked with ashes, windows cracked beneath ice, doors opened to night's unforgiving wind. Bread burned, bedding churned, milk spilled, underwear chilled. Our ages were filled with cold delight as we brought Winter's gifts to all."

"Ever were we servants

of the ice king and his cold.

Ever did we list to him,

our Father Frost of Old!"

yelled the elves.

The Elder nodded. "On a night when the moon was at its lowest height, a force crept into the land. Wide was his berth, solid his stride with a belt round his girth. His cheeks were flushed with fervor in a color we feared, and his coat, yea, his coat was as red as the flames that he claimed would sear our souls.

"'Oh Hellfire, that fire that is worse than the sun,' the stranger said, 'it will burn you and your children, as your fathers already burn. Unless,' he gazed at our gaping mouths with a twinkle in his eyes, 'you accept my offer.'

"'How do you know our fathers burn in this place called Hellfire?' we asked him.

"'How do I know?' he said. 'As surely as the day bests the night and melts the snow you love. As surely as you have placed the bodies of your fathers into the ice to rest, so the sun melts even the most solid tombs and sets their souls aflame. There is no rest for them, and there will be no rest for you or your little ones unless you take my offer.'

"'What offer?' we crowded around, for his words struck truth. Our fathers' bodies disappeared during the heat of summer, their bones scattered. And their souls... what did we know about life after night? We slept, we woke, we danced until Father Frost called us in. Had our fathers, in fact, met their fate in that fire Saint Nicholas threatened?

"'My offer is this,' he placed his finger alongside his nose. 'You work for me as I work for God, the God who is more powerful than the day. You work to bring His warmth to all the good boys and girls on this earth. When winter is at its very darkest, you will bring hope to their hearts. And perhaps... just perhaps... you will redeem yourselves. The fire won't claim you as it has your fathers. Indeed, the fire will set you free.'

"With a nod of his head, he hefted his sack of belongings and left, chuckling over his shoulder. 'Think on it. I'll be in the house at the top of the world, where warmth never comes but the heavens glow just the same.'

"We considered, we laughed, we argued over the hilarity of his words, at the unconscionable sacrifice infused in his offer. And the following year, when we awoke from our rests and the bodies of our fathers were missed, we recalled the words of the strange man in red. And many of us took it upon ourselves to save our children. We trekked to that house at the top of the world where light shines through the winter."

Silence reigned over the hall.

"And here we are to this day," the Elder finally said. "Slaves to good ol' Saint Nicholas, in conditions many elves call preferable. We have food, we have clothing, we have night and day the year round in which to perform our deeds. And it may just be that Hellfire, that flame which grabs souls and burns them in the night, will pass us and our children by.

"But," the Elder's eyes shone bright in his staff's light, "our minds always return to our fathers, and to our one true father, Father Frost, who surely wraps his children in his endless eve, to rest in the ice of his embrace when we are weary. And this hope, the one our fathers lived by, we remember tonight.

"For we are elves!  The children of the night!  The servants of ice and chill and doused fires, yea, even that great Hellfire of which Saint Nicholas spoke!"

"Ever are we servants

of the ice king and his cold.

Ever do we list to him,

our Father Frost of Old!"

yelled the elves.

"Hear me now, my brethren," said the Elder. "On this unlucky night, I present to you a choice. A choice akin to the choice the man in red gave us long ago. Who will remain here, the servants of the Sun God, and who will venture back to the homes of our fathers and prove Saint Nicholas wrong?"

"For at long last," he said into the shocked quiet, "I have made my choice."

___
Whose side would you choose? Santa's or the elves'? :)

Chill Glow

(This is a really creepy picture, but aliens kind of are creepy. Or at least unexpected, no matter how much we like to expect them.)

The icy flakes stung my cheeks. I brushed them off my fur hood and peered for a glimpse of Evan, beyond the quickly filling prints of his boots.

I couldn’t dislodge from my lungs the colder idea that he was stuck, that he’d tripped into the creek, shallow as it was, and frozen from the moisture.

“Evan,” I yelled again into the snow, but the flurries didn’t carry it far.

Then, “Meriah?” A high voice came from the other side of the creek. A blue hood, haloed in flakes, rose from the bank.

“Evan.” I leapt across the creek in two bounds, not caring about the dryness of my own boots, and squashed his little body up against my chest.

He leaned back and gazed at me seriously. “I followed the snowflakes,” he said.

“They didn’t have to bring you to the creek,” I said.

“They wanted me to. They were glowing.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Snow does glow.”

“No.” He turned and pointed. “See?”

I looked back at the creek bed.

“Do you see them?”

I looked harder. Hovering near the bank by the withered thistles were three tiny spheres, somehow more luminescent than the white dust. I blinked.

“There were more of them,” Evan said.

Another and then another appeared, floating down with the flakes but seeming reluctant to touch down. Little hovering lights, all along the creek, like stars in the snow. “I probably scared them when I ran through the water,” I said.

“No, they died.” His voice sounded so sad, I gazed back into his face. His cheeks were pale, not red, and I hugged him close again.

“We have to get you inside,” I said.

“Just a minute. Look.” He held out his little hand and brought it back. On his skin, a light flared. I wanted to think it was a trick of the sun but there was no sun. “Quick.”

I squinted at his palm. For an instant, a little form with five points, not six, opened its mouth before melting into a droplet of water. I wiped flakes from my lashes and stared upward into a vertiginous snow, then back at the creek.

“It isn’t all of them,” Evan said. “I don't know why. I was trying to get cold, to give them a safe place to land so I could show you.”

He held out his hand for another one and I knew what to expect this time. It opened its mouth, too, before it became a clear dome.

“What was it saying?” I asked.

“It just wants to live. The creek makes them float longer.”

“Why did they want you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they just wanted me to know.”

“Maybe. Evan, I’m taking you inside for some cocoa.”

“Meriah,” he placed his icy little hands on my cheeks, “we have to try.”

“Yes,” I promised. “We’ll try.”

___
Of course, then they make a field of cold air generators and someone finds out and the government gets involved, but there is always a moment of discovery. :)

I wanted to bring out a bit of the magic of the snow. And of life. It’s so precious a treasure, even in the cold seasons. —Elm