Week 11: More Winter Tales

These are some of the best responses to the prompt, Winter Tales. More will be published next week. Some of these were presented by Vermont Stage Company last week. The young writers: Emily Lyman, Meghan Cleary, Charlotte Dworshak, Basundhara Mukherjee, Mike Judkins, Carrie Harvey, Brenden Greaves, Whitney Dubie and Lacy Bortz.

Going down Cold Tree Hill
By Charlotte Dworshak
Burlington High School, Grade 10

I scrape the snow off my skis as I sit on the chair and wait. It is made of metal that has been turned white with the frigid air. I think about how cold it was last night and how the chair must have been in the middle of the night. I shiver at the thought. I look at my torn gloves and ball my hands up to keep them warm. A gust of wind comes as I protect my face by tipping it down. It is snowing in big clumps, and I try to catch one on my tongue. I do; it instantly melts like cotton candy. I stare straight at the falling snow and watch it tease me by coming straight at my goggles but never hitting them.
I watch some of the tourists and chuckle to myself as they walk down the hill with their skis crossed in their hands. At that moment I feel my momentum leaving me: The lift begins to slow. How long will it be this time? I think. When it finally comes to a complete stop, the chair is right at a pole. Number 16. It is supposed to be green, but these past few nights has turned it a cold white.
Since I stopped on a pole, I am allowed one wish. Though partially miserable at the moment, I decide. When they shut the lift down, you really realize you are in the mountains. It is cold and the wind howls more now that the chair has stopped. It really is the only thing I can focus on.
I tip my head down and stare at a tree through my two skis. It is white from all that I can see. A buzzing noise starts to form as I lift my head back up. I feel my momentum coming back; the lift has started again. I watch each snow-covered tree go by below and think what it must be like to be a tree, to stay in one place your whole existence, not seeing anything but the view you sprouted from, staying out in the night, letting the ice weigh you down.
I feel my lungs fill up with cold air as I inhale all I knew of winter. As I let it out, I watch the steam-like air rise and then vanish into the gray sky. I pull up my wet scarf and lift the bar over my head and let it clang on the top of the chair, a noise I have heard so many times in my life. I wiggle my toes and feel nothing, but this is normal; I don’t give it much thought. I lift my skis toward the sky and scoot myself to the edge of the chair; my skis hit the heavily used snow. I don’t need to look; I can always feel with the bottom of my skis and know I have hit the snow.
I push off to a glide and relax my body, letting myself drift to the knoll. Just before I go over, I feel my entire body shiver with the glacial air. I let my speed increase and go over, until I have enough momentum to start turning. I cut into my first turn; the snow feels perfect: heavily packed but the wind and the snow have made it fresh. I turn quickly and try to get that pressure on my legs.
This is what I live for.
I watch the same trees I had seen on my way up zip past. They look much bigger now, how cold they must be with the snow and ice taking over their limbs. My mind wanders again to warmth as I try to imagine the lodge and hot chocolate and a fire. I lift my shoulders to make the collar of my jacket go over my nose which I could feel was getting white with frostbite. I know this feeling well, a stinging feeling that bites harshly.
I stop, hockey style, and take my hand out of my glove and cover my nose to warm it. I pull my scarf over my nose and continue down the mountain, over another knoll and then float down the steep hill. I hit powder. I turn out of it and push for more speed, accelerating, feeling the frostbite coming back as I go faster and faster down the hill. I come around the last turn and see the lift, using my momentum to carve five more turns and glide to the lift entrance. There is no wait.
The lift man smiles at me with his bright red coat on, his beard covered with snow and frost. To be out on the hill doing what you love in the cold is one thing, but to stand out in the cold watching everyone do what you love seems so hard to me. I take another deep breath and pull myself to the rotating chair, shift my weight and journey back up to the top of Cold Tree Hill, covering my nose with my glove as I stare down at the trees.

Tim
By Meghan Cleary
Rick Marcotte Central School, Grade 5

Two days ago, Tim died. His last words to me were ‘keep hoping.’
When he got sick, we didn’t think it was serious. We were wrong. Lots of people stopped by with food and sympathy cards.
Even though Tim wasn’t with us, Mom and Pop tried to act like they were excited about Christmas but I could sense the sorrow.
When we were little, Tim and I would fight a lot, but I think I miss him more than anyone.
I didn’t feel like playing outside anymore. I just sat at my bedroom window watching my friends having snowball fights and building forts and snowmen.
As night fell there was a heavy snowfall. That meant there was no school to look forward to tomorrow.
The entire day I sat at the desk in my bedroom drawing pictures of my favorite memories of Tim. I drew all of them.
Tim was a rather handsome but lazy boy. He didn’t pay attention in class and he was always ruffling his hair so it looked like he had just come in from skateboarding. (I think he did it for the girls but he might have had his own reason.)
I remembered one time when we had had a snow day and Tim and I had snowball fights that seemed to never end. Once we had a contest to see who could build the tallest snowman. He won only because mine collapsed at the last second. After a long day of playing in the snow we would walk into the house, drawn to the smell of hot cocoa coming from the kitchen.
I started drawing pictures of Christmas morning and opening presents. We always decorated the tree beautifully with flickering lights, tinsel, popcorn strings, and ornaments and of course the star glowing vibrantly on top. I was thinking of this and how Christmas was tomorrow when I realized something.
“Mom! Dad!” I yelled as I ran into the living-room.
“What? What is it?” they said sounding alarmed as they turned to me. They had been gazing at a beautifully decorated Christmas tree with flickering lights, tinsel, popcorn strings, ornaments and of course the star glistening vibrantly on top. The entire tree seemed to glow.
“What? B-but h-how? How did you get that Christmas tree?” I stammered.
“We got it when you locked yourself in your room for the past two days,” Pop said smiling.
* * *
Later that day, I called my friends and we all got together for a snowball fight. It seemed to last forever but it was really only about forty-five minutes because we had only a few people. Alex and Colby split up to be on separate teams to make the snowballs and Sarah and I were the throwers. Then we had a contest to see who could build the tallest snowman, Sarah and I or Alex and Colby. Alex and Colby won only because Sarah and mine collapsed at the last second.
After a long afternoon of playing we all went into my house drawn by the smell of hot cocoa coming from the kitchen.
* * *
As I lay in bed that night I realized that things were slowly moving back to normal. I was happy and sad at the same time. I was happy because I knew that Tim was in a better place. I was sad because I knew that I would never see him again.
But I took a big step today.

Snow Angel
By Emily Lyman
Mater Christi, Grade 3

I like to be alone on a calm winter day
letting cold flakes fall by my feet
I let myself fall
and be swallowed up by whiteness.
I let winter snowflakes land on my face
that turn into droplets of water
they feel like ice. I move
my arms and legs up and down
in the blanket of whiteness I lie in,
like someone doing jumping jacks.
I stand up and walk into the woods
newly blanketed with snow
leaving behind an imprint of me
that once lay there
alone
on a blanket of white.

Early Christmas Present
By Basundhara Mukherjee
Rick Marcotte Central School, Grade 5

It was a perfect winter night. The weather was crisp, clear and cold. There was almost a foot of fresh snow in our yard. It was almost Christmas time. We were all huddled up around the fireplace when Sam, our golden retriever, ran to the door, barking.
We did not pay any attention until he started pounding on the door. My mom walked up to the glass door and shrieked, “There’s a deer in our yard!” My dad and I ran outside with Sam right behind us. There was a beautiful deer sitting in the yard. The moon shone on its shining hide and with the snow around, I felt as if Rudolf was right there before me without his red nose.
All of a sudden, Sam started sniffing the snow and barking out to the woods bordering our yard. On the fresh white snow we could see red patches of blood stains. The deer was severely injured and bleeding. My dad cried out to my mom to get some help. At the same time, we spotted two dog-like animals sprinting through the side of our yard. Sam started chasing them. As my mom took care of the deer, my dad, realizing that those two animals were coyotes, ran after Sam, trying to stop him. My feet were frozen to the ground.
We noticed that the deer was not moving and my mom said she could feel his body shaking. “He must be cold,” I said.
“No, he’s been attacked by the coyotes and is badly injured,” my mom replied. “But, don’t worry we’ll take care of him till help arrives,” she assured me. I was so scared that I could barely move.
In the moonlight we could see my dad walking back holding Sam’s collar. “Are you all right?” Mom and I asked.
“Yes,” said my dad. “Those were coyotes. Thankfully they did not attack Sam. How is the deer?”
“We need immediate help, and we need to move him into the garage,” my mom said. I was so surprised. What is she talking about? Moving this huge deer into the garage? How is that possible? But my dad seemed to agree. My mom went in to speak to a vet on how to treat the wounds while my dad called the police department. We had a square wooden board in our garage. My dad brought it out and slowly and carefully lifted the huge deer onto the board. It took a lot of effort to not hurt him in anyway and I could see drops of sweat on my dad’s forehead even on such a chilly winter night.
“What are we going to do now?” I asked confused.
“Now, we are going to slide the board on the snow into the garage, so that he can be warm.” My dad said.
“I can do that! I go sledding all the time,” I said. “Not this time,” my dad replied. “We need to be very careful not to hurt him.”
As he said that we saw a police car pulling up our driveway. “Officer, do you mind helping me move this wooden board into the warm garage?” my dad asked.
“Sure,” said the police officer. Both he and my dad almost lifted the board into the garage. The deer was still shaking. My mom started cleaning the wounds just as the vet had instructed her. For the first time I touched him, gently stroking his beautiful shiny skin. Soon, he relaxed and stopped shaking. My mom’s treatment seemed to work.
“The game warden is on his way” said the police officer. “He should be in here within a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours?" My parents looked anxious. The deer needs immediate care,” said my mom.
“There is no way to get help earlier than that,” said the officer. “But I can stay with you to help take care of him.”
For the next two hours both my parents took turns caring for the deer. I had almost started being friends with him. So did Sam. He had stopped barking and was dancing round the deer showing all the different silly tricks he has learned. We could tell that with the care and the warmth, the deer was feeling much better. He tried to get up twice but could not. I felt so sorry for him. But at the same time, I felt very glad that we were able to save him. My mom said that she knew that he was going to be all right.
It was almost two in the morning when the game warden’s truck pulled up our driveway. I was not even sleepy. My dad, the police officer and the game warden slowly and carefully lifted the deer onto the game warden’s truck. The game warden thanked my parents for taking care of the deer so well. He said that had we not taken him in, the deer would have been dead by now or the coyotes would have attacked him more. The game warden also said that the deer looked good and was going to be safe.
By that time I had thought of a name for him. ‘Spotty.’ I wanted him to be safe and get his wounds treated but at the same time I wanted him to stay with Sam and me. As the game warden’s truck went away, my mom said “This is going to be a very special Christmas for you.”
“Yes,” I thought. Saving Spotty will be the best Christmas present I ever got. Every Christmas when snow and decorations brighten the outdoors, I think of Spotty. He must be happily roaming in the woods enjoying the wonderful fresh snow on this beautiful winter night.

Winter
By Mike Judkins
Walden Middle School, Grade 8

The first flower popping up in the spring, the first 90-degree day in the summer, the first orange leaf falling from a tree in the fall – there’s a sign for every season. Yet maybe the most distinctive of all is the first blanket of snow falling in winter, turning the world white and black as if we lived in my grandparents’ black and white Sylvania television set; no color just tints of white and gray and black. Everything living and green, now dead or dormant from cold or snowcover. Every creature once scurrying to get ready for winter now nestled down, some witnessing their first winter, others maybe their last. The sharp cold fills every crack and crevice. There is no escape.

Winter Wonderland
By Brenden Greaves
Walden Middle School, Grade 8

Winter to me means walking through the door
On the first day of rifle season
When we just got a foot of snow
And the wind is blowing through my hair
Then getting to the woods and realizing I forgot something
Then getting home about dark that night
Just in time to do the farm chores and then go to bed, late
when the bed is just freezing from the day’s coldness.

Winter snow
By Carrie Harvey
Walden Middle School, Grade 8

Fresh crisp snow ready for packing
Excites my sisters little eyes
Presents sit ready for unwrapping
Under the Christmas tree
Sleds and tubes come out quick
As we head for the hill icy and slick
Snowmen are built fat and round
Footprints are left where rabbits bound
Leaves are covered
The bears are asleep
Everyone’s silent
Only the wind dares to peep
Cold
Warm
Quiet
Loud
In winter everything is found.

Breathless cold of the winter’s night
By Whitney Dubie
Essex High School, Grade 12

Breathe
It wasn’t enough for her, he said
She nodded knowingly,
And they continued on in the cold.

The trees, thin and black,
Crawled from beneath the snow.
They held their hands
inside of their pockets, in avoidance,
Their breaths breaking the silence.

The moon was white and whole,
She noticed.
He said nothing in return.

They walked on for miles,
Through the ice, the metal air
Burning their faces
Clasping the delicate lashes.

They reached the cabin
And stood inside.
He said he’d start the fire.

The windows melted,
The fire blazed and burned.
She burned with it.

In the deafening silence
He took her hand,
And they watched their shadows on the wall
Emerge.

She stood up and opened the door.

The world seeped in
The flames gasped once
and died.

Snow, quite snow
By Lacy Bortz
John J. Flynn Elementary School, Grade 4

The snow is white.
It feels so cold.
I think it's so cold I’ve got to go home.
The snowflakes are falling from the sky.
They make a lot of snow on the ground.
Snow is silent.
You can not hear it.
But it is noisy when I get home.
I feel like I want to go back in the snow.