Will o'the Wisp

Clink after clink, steel met porcelain. Me and Momma gripped our spoons and silently ate our bowls of butternut squash soup. The kitchen was big and cold, I hated it, but it made the hot soup taste better.

The orange broth was a family recipe. Momma's daddy taught it to her, who learned it from his Momma, who learned it from her Momma, who learned it from her Momma who came across the ocean on the Mayflower! It was super yummy, made of roasted squash, apples, and onions, with loads of cumin, a sprinkle of salt, pepper, and cinnamon, and heaps of sour cream and roasted pumpkin seed. We ate it with big chunks of sourdough bread - baked fresh by Momma - which, of course, were smothered in butter. It tasted really good with a glass of milk to help cool my throat.

Momma taught me the recipe too! We don't see grandma anymore, so Momma said that I needed to know it just-in-case she had to go and see grandma. I guess she wants me to be able to cook for myself, but I could just make cereal or grilled cheese, so I'm not sure what Momma's worried about.

Momma finished her soup, reached over the table, ruffled my hair, and got up to clean her bowl. I wasn't done, so I kept eating.

Momma's hands were full of soap and suds. She scrubbed the bowl, rinsed it, and dried it off before putting it away. She stood at the sink, sighed, and slouched out of the room. I kept eating. My soup had grown cold.

I sat in my favorite steel folding chair in front of our plastic dinner table. I heard Momma's feet creak into her room. Her door thumped shut.

I left my bowl on the table - even though I knew that would make Momma angry - and went into my room. I sat on my bed and pulled the covers up to the tip of my nose and snatched a book off of my nightstand. Trollops and Plugtails was my favorite story book! Momma always told me to read before I went to sleep. She said it would make my dreams more colorful.

I snuggled deep into my covers and watched the moon rise higher and higher into the sky from my window. I read about little Sally Trollop having adventures with fairies and leprechauns and elves and hobgoblins and all sorts of super duper magical creatures in the Arlington woods off Cranbury lane. I oh-so wanted to have adventures like Sally, but I was old enough to know that there was no such thing as magic. Or, at least, that's what Momma told me.

I read and read and read much later than I should have. I didn't have school in the morning, but Momma would still be mad if I wasn't able to wake up for oatmeal. However, my eyes weren't tired, not even a little bit. I wanted to do something! Anything! But, there was nothing to do but read.

I was reading by the light of the moon, but slowly it became dimmer. I peeked through the blinds to see clouds swiftly covering the stars. A blanket of grey replaced the brilliant shimmering of the thousands of teeny-tiny dots and little bits of snow began to fall.

I couldn't read anymore without turning on my light, but that would make Momma very mad, so, still cocooned in my blankets, I pressed my cheeks against the glass to get as close a view as I could of the spectacular dance which was taking place before my eyes.

Little flecks of white twirled and whirled as they fell down from heaven onto the branches of long-dead trees. Mighty oaks and supple pines alike bent and bowed under the weight of frozen water falling from the sky. The wind twisted the snow into a cyclone, to and fro to and fro, circling around the yard. Everything was washed in a pale, mystic glow, and it felt like magic could pop out of the ground at any moment.

Suddenly, as soon as it had begun, the snow stopped falling. The clouds receded back into the night, leaving a blanket of white powder to cover what seemed like the entire world.