Member-only story
The Authentic Eclectic
The Gate of Reindeer Bones
A white fox sprang high to break the crust, then dug into the bank to root out a burrowing hare. It was not successful. It shook the snow from its snout and trotted off to find new prey.
The blistering banks sparkled in the cold sun. It felt wonderful to cry on Christmas eve.
Erin moved away from the window and settled at the base of the tree, bumping an ornament onto the carpet. It rolled and lost its hook, which she might discover later with her foot. They were not suffering tears, but small, silver baubles representing an inner melancholy that was sweet to expel. The nature of some things change when expressed, and not always for the worse.
She fell onto her side and cried more freely. Very lovely, warm, mysteriously bruise-purple yet relieving. Sorrow, where is thy sting? She would go out in thick long underwear and stockings and a white dress, with her white coat with the gold trim and buttons, and crimson gloves and scarf and hat. At this thought, she sat up, quite suddenly dry of tears.
Charmed by the woods, she lost her way. The cabin was only a rental where she’d thought to get away for a while: alone for Christmas. So she was lost in unfamiliar land, in freezing weather, with the sun sinking.
