“Oh man of winter, you will find that we are fierce and you are blind. Oh god of snow, you curse with cold, but we grow strong as you grow old.”
Photo credit: Liz West
Marro opened his eyes. It was dark, but the sun came up late and low these days. He heard the cows shifting and mumbling. They knew it was morning.
Leaving the covers was the hardest task of the day. His wife, so warm and soft beside him. Their daughters, quiet, closer to the cow-heated wall. His old father, snoring from the other end.
Finally, disentangling his legs from his son’s, he slipped out, pulling on his boots.
Concern pulled him to the door. Today was the last chance. The snow-statue should have been built already, but for weeks, they’d only had flurries. Three years ago they couldn’t do the ritual, and such a bad year followed. Eleven years before that, the same.
His cloak wrapped tight, Marro cracked open the door. Moonlight revealed a miracle. Snow covered the fields, the cart, the trees. Two hands deep, at least.
He almost cried. Yes, they could build Onerro the White Man today. They would warm themselves with spiced cider and dancing, taunting Onerro with the old songs. Then tonight—Last Night—they would tear it down, melt it with torches, stomp it flat.
“Thank the Green Lady,” Marro whispered. “We are blessed.”
Submitted for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge. Thanks to Al Forbes for hosting, and for providing the inspirational photo prompt! Click here to submit your own story, or read the others. And stay warm out there, folks!
Photo credit: Al Forbes, A Mixed Bag