“You kids should go and help that neighbour,” their mother commented from the kitchen doorway, having appeared silently from behind them. Startled, the children turned toward her. “We can’t,” replied Carmen’s brother, wide-eyed. “You can and you will!” their mother decided firmly. “Put on your Wellingtons and away you go.” She always used this term when referring to boots. With Nicholas dragging his feet, they started across the street. As they made their way through the deep snow, Carmen knew that he must be feeling nervous, since she was a little reluctant to face the unknown woman herself. The trek across the road seemed to take forever, but finally they made it. As they approached the elderly woman who was still shovelling her walk, her face brightened into a big smile. Her cheeks were rosy red from the cold and her sparkling eyes were dancing. “You’re the new neighbours,” she observed with enthusiasm. I’m glad someone has bought that house. It has been empty for too long.” Introducing themselves, Carmen explained that they had come to help. Though the three worked diligently to dig through the heavy drifts, they only managed a narrow walkway to the road. Finally, exhausted and out of breath, the woman said, “That’s enough for now. Come inside and have some hot chocolate.” Carmen glanced at her brother. His face looked uncertain and scared. Nevertheless, she pushed and prodded him toward the door until, at last, they stood inside a warm, unique kitchen. They could hardly believe their eyes. Candles were strewn across a wooden table surrounded by other strange items. An assortment of miniature figurines stood amid greenish moss. Tiny boxes sat piled up among small green branches. Mesmerized by all the unfamiliar things spread over the table and continuing even onto the floor, they slowly ate warmed oatmeal cookies and drank hot chocolate in silence. “You see,” said the woman, pointing at the array of articles before them, “I am building my presepio. Presepio, for me, is similar to your manger scenes here in Canada. I would like it very much if you would come back on Christmas Eve when everything is arranged properly and the lights are all aglow. It is how we celebrate Christmas in Italy. You decorate a beautiful Christmas tree and I have my presepio. Smiling warmly, she gave us a box of cookies to take home. Now, on days when the snow lays softly deep and large, lacy flakes drift lazily toward the earth, Carmen remembers back to the ‘Big Snow’ of so long ago when a quiet old lady fed hot chocolate and cookies to two wide-eyed children, opening their eyes, for the first time, to the magic of other worlds beyond their own.
CARMEN ZIOLKOWSKI was born in Italy. Following
World Word II, she lived in England where she worked as a registered nurse and later as a midwife. In 1955 she immigrated to Canada and later studied journalism. She is a member of the Writer’s Union of Canada, the Canadian Authors Association, the Association of ItalianCanadian Writers, Pen International, Writers in Transition (WIT), and The Ontario Poetry Society.
Drifting By Anne Mason Winter on my window sill, Brave sparrows come to feed, Their taloned footprints on the snow Bring memories back to me. Of skating on a little lake, Of snowmen plump and proud, Of chasing goosey gander Under a moonlit bough. A humble junco nimbly hops And nibbles round my face, Her silent tiptoes brush my ear To catch the flakes of lace. A dream of woven wonder Drifts round me from aloft, Deep bed of newborn snowdrops Lies round me, feather soft. An angel drawn beneath me On snow of purest white, Sings lullabies, a calm refrain, My yearning soul takes flight Upon a single snowflake That falls from heaven above, To shower earth with blessings And gentle prayers of love.
ANNE MASON’S creative spark evolved while
writing a novel about a Butterfly and a Grizzly Bear. Her repertoire includes several poems and short stories, in which poetic images seem to give shape to her ideas. She has had poetry published in Halcyon, has a nonfiction short story accepted for a local anthology for Sarnia’s one hundredth anniversary and received third prize for a short story in a local contest. Anne currently resides in Sarnia, Ontario where she regularly attends ‘Writers in Transition,’ a writing group that encourages and inspires. Contact Anne at anne_mason8246@yahoo.ca.
Halcyon - Winter 2013
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