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For the next few weeks I thought i'd entertain you with a story that's been floating around my head for years. It will be in four parts with a hopeful conclusion on Christmas day.
                                       Henry's Christmas Wish
    Henry climbed the bus steps with no coat on. His friends on the bus were dressed for warm weather too, all shorts and t-shirts. The bus's windows were lowered to half mast, the incoming breeze caused the silver garland to reflect broken light on the ceiling. It was December and winter was absent. While the sun retreated earlier each day the temperatures remained the same as September. Regardless of the weather school was abuzz with holiday beginnings. A collection box had been placed in the lobby for less fortunate children. It overflowed with unused coats, gloves and boots. The music hall echoed with the sound of out of tune Christmas carols being learned by first graders. After school, looking out his bus window he saw stores around town decorated in lighted icicles and spray-on snow. Cars drove past shaded by Christmas trees lashed to the roof, a trail of pine needles floating in their wake. Henry was not looking forward to another Christmas in the sun. At home he walked down the driveway and closed his eyes to the green fields and blue sky. In his mind he envisioned slate colored skies and white snow tumbling downward.
    The weatherman exuberantly reported more of the same, record breaking daytime highs and not a cloud on the maps. He placed a large H and smiley face over the entire state and joyously forecasted sunny skies far into next week. Henry turned off the television, asked his dad if the weatherman could ever be wrong. His dad talked of radar and far off satellites that left nothing to chance. The conversation quickly meandered off topic onto global warming, rising oceans and swimming polar bears. His dad never gave a simple answer. Mom called for him to set the table while his dad turned on the radio. Most stations had been playing Christmas songs since Thanksgiving but it did not matter how many different singers pleadingly dreamed of a White Christmas it just wasn't on the horizon this year.
    Henry gazed out his bedroom window at the sparkling stars through the trees. A wisp of smoke from the neighbor's grill and drifted across the moon's face. He wished it was a snow cloud materializing to envelop the night sky. That night he dreamed of sledding and snow ball fights. Of warm chocolate chip cookies and reading Calvin and Hobbes by the wood stove.
    Somewhere miles away, more miles then even a seven year old can imagine an old woman stirred under a mountain of blankets.
Stay tuned for next week's chapter.

Henry's Christmas Wish, part 2

   Far north from where Henry slept encircled in his dreams lies the Northwest Territories of Canada. Just north of the 60th parrallel, highway number 3 branches off to the right. The landscape stretches forever in all directions. It’s a mishmash of swamps, lakes and forests. Migrating waterfowl find the waterways and tundra abundant with food during the brief summers. Towns are small clusters of houses huddled together with names such as Edzo and Rae. The road dead ends in the capitol of Yellowknife as if it too knows that survival further north is impossible. The winter's are harsh and lonely. The inhabitants find little to do but survive. There is a solitary road that bravely exits north out of town it quickly sheds houses along the way. It’s first mile is paved in asphalt but soon changes to gravel before deteriorating altogether into a meandering rutted trail. Trees arch over the trail burdened by heavy snows creating a green and white causeway to the wilderness beyond. The trail though a quagmire in summer becomes accessible when winter’s icy hand presses down and hardens the earth. Winds incessantly howl, chilling the air to immeasurable temperatures. Snow falls almost nonstop with the wind drifting it higher then the trees. In winter no person would venture out into this inhospitable world. If you were to determinably follow this path past Russell lake and Snare lake and rivers named for long forgotten explorers you would near the Artic Circle. The forests begin to dwindle and a frozen wasteland spreads before you. In a little cove just over the arctic circle on the banks of Great Bear Lake a lonely cabin barely withstood the buffeting of Artic winds. It was hardly discernable from the piles of snow around it.

   Inside under a mountain of blankets an old woman lay sleeping. She tussled with dreams from many lifetimes. A wild mane of silver hair cascaded over the pillow. They say if you snore loud enough you’ll awake with the fright of a freight train bearing down on you. Or of sailing to close to shore and hearing a fog horn’s loud bellowing of alarm before you crash against the shore. The old woman slept on heedless to any such warning, her snores echoed throughout the one room shack rattling anything not tied down. Tea cups hanging on the cupboard tinkled like china chimes. The curtains wavered more from her exhaustive releases of her cold breath then from the arctic winds encircling the cabin. Snow lay in small drifts inside near windows and doors as if it too was seeking shelter from the outside. She slowly awoke with a wish coming through her dreams. Rising she got out of bed and walked to her stove and started a fire. The quickening flame reflected a warm glow throughout the room. Rummaging in her robe she pulled out a pipe, the bowl was carved with swirling designs of wind and clouds. The burst of flame from a match shown upon a weathered and deeply furrowed face. Her rough hewn complexion seemed as old as the Dakota badlands but a starlight twinkle blazed in her eyes. This ageless woman has never been sung of in songs like old Santa Claus for unlike the multitude of gifts he delivers she can only grant one type of wish. She brings winds. She brings ice. She brings snow. She brings winter.

Henry's Christmas Wish part 3

    Like a glacier the elderly woman moved slowly about her cabin. She focused her eyes to the shadows seeking belongings for a southern journey. She did not pack lighter clothing for warmer weather Outside a car lay under a mounta for she was bringing winter with her. She was not dictated but any fashion sense but dressed in layers like a disorganized fabric onion. Here a pattern of flannel there a polka dot print. Large rubber boots peeked from under a paisley skirt and a scarf of purple and green snaked about her neck and body. Local Indian lore told of ice flowing through her veins and arctic air escaping from her lips.

    A car lay in a pile of snow, unidentifiable from it's surroundings. In past times she would use a sleigh for travel but then the caribou became too scarce. Later it was a Stanley Steamer but that finally quit on a return trip and she abandoned it an Iowan cornfield. Her latest mode of transportation was a 1959 Cadillac. It took effort for the automotive behemoth to turn over but like a puppy waking from a nap it was ready to play. The rumbling of it's beastly motor could cause car alarms to sound but there was not another car for a thousand miles. It was painted a deep black like the night sky in Barrow, Alaska, the Aurora Borealis reflected off the hood. The massive chrome bumpers sported stickers that proclaimed "I brake on icy bridges", "My other car is a dogsled" and "Cold is a figment of your imagination". A rainbow garland of Christmas lights dangled around the interior. Upon the dashboard were bobble head figures of Santa and Rudolph. The radio glowed and played holiday songs by the Lemon sisters, Bing Crosby and Louie Armstrong. Her car was not equipped with GPS for she could locate a Christmas wish guided by ancient instincts. A mile south of her cabin the wintry landscape stopped abruptly. As her car lumbered onto the rutted muddy trail on the border a transformation began. Whereas blue skies and green forest lay ahead, a glance in the rearview mirror gave the appearance of foreboding doom. The sky was troubling, dark storm clouds followed in the her wake. She brought all the elements of winter. First came the plummeting temperatures and a cold that crept into your bones and settled there for an age. Yellowknife's temperature dropped from 45 to -17 in mere hours. Then ice and frost painted the landscape in crystalline textures. Snow fell silently at first like a piano solo but quickly reached the crescendo of a blizzard.A snow squall  Drivers were astonished as this antique dinosaur lumbered past them leaving a trail of snow on the highways.

    At home Henry listened as the customers at his parent's Wild Birds Unlimited store offered various opinions about the weather. The old timer’s would declare "In my day we’d have snow from Thanksgiving until the daffodils of April pushed through. Some remembered winter's past that measured snowfall in feet while others were ecstatic about the balmy spring-like weather they were experiencing. Henry was tired of adults philosophizing about the weather he wanted to go sledding. The TV weatherman cheerfully talked of the sunny days ahead through Christmas day. He expanded the radar map to show empty skies forever. Well almost forever, as he pointed to a far off blip above northern Canada and jokingly told his fellow news people that it was Santa's hideout. Adults fail to remember the secrets of their childhood, for they'd recall that the snow always arrives before Santa.

   Henry’s dad drug in a mammoth tree. A cascade of needles sprinkled behind it like jimmys on a cupcake. The tree filled the room leaving little room for his train set. Decorating it was a family affair with dad reaching the high branches while mom got the middle and Henry took care of the lowliest boughs. Each evening they played the I spy game to find ornaments upon the tree and Mom baked cookies in the kitchen. He looked at the lofty star ten feet above him and whispered a silent wish of snow.

    Far away darkening clouds were expanding at a quickening rate.

Part 4 coming soon

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