Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Hearts and Humor – A Michael Smith Column

January 21, 2007

Read HTML version online: http://archives.zinester.com/86758/119289.html


    Hello my family of readers. Tonight is my repeat night. This one will mean a lot

to those of you in the middle of winter's grip. A part of this story will appear

in my continuation of my story from last weekend called, "I Could Fly Away."

   
    I pray for all of you in the middle of the USA and experiencing the ice storms.

I know what it's like, as you will read. Please be safe.


    I have a wonderful story in the making, my family. I wish I could tell you more,

but I can't.not yet. It will be two to three weeks before this one reaches its finale.


    I have a wonderful friend. He's been my friend for more than 25 years. During

that time, he's done a lot for me. A few months ago, I got an opportunity to return

his friendship. I leaped at it and succeeded, only he doesn't know it yet.


    I can't tell the story right now. I'm not sure if my friend reads my posts, but I do

know that some of our mutual friends do. This story can't be told until the last

piece falls into place.


    All I can say at this time is, "I AM SO EXCITED!!!" 


    When my surprise is done, there will be two very happy people. An

opportunity like this comes around only a few times in a lifetime. I'm not letting it

pass by. You'll hear more about it in the coming weeks.


    I love you all. Enjoy tonight's story.

                     Warm Memories of Ice



    Saint John, New Brunswick was under the attack of a silent
   
killer. The battle continued for three days. Residents remained

indoors and watched through frosty windows. Few had the courage

to venture onto the battlefield. The fear of injury kept them tucked

safely inside their homes


    The enemy, a lethal ice storm, fought a steady battle. After
   
days of assault, it released us from its grasp and slipped quietly

away. In its path, it left a world smothered in glassy ice. When

the clouds parted, I ventured outside to admire winter's deadly

magic. Only those who had braved the assault earlier knew the extent

of the damage. The rest of us were in for a surprise. The city was a

land of crystallized beauty, every exposed surface coated in inches

of ice.


    My need to see how others had faired led me on a tour of the
   
city. I cracked the shell of ice from my car. It was several inches

thick on the roof, and slid off in one chunk, hit the sidewalk, and

rolled to the side without breaking.


    I drove by parks littered with limbs and fallen trees. Trees
   
that survived stood amidst a tangle of stripped branches and sparkled

with reflected sunlight. White scars where limbs had been torn free

could be seen on every tree, reminders of the battle.


    On Mount Pleasant Avenue, where majestic homes hide behind hundred-
   
year-old trees, I saw the worst of the storm's damage. Lawns lay covered

in ice-hardened snow and cars sat buried in twisted heaps of sheared

limbs. The mighty trees had become disfigured victims of nature's wrath.

I watched them shed branches like autumn's leafs. Utility poles draped

their tangled lines to the ground, leaving residents without electricity

or phone services.


    I drove slowly, stared at the destruction all around me. My heart
   
ached for the wildlife. The birds would starve. I promised myself to

buy a bag of bird seed on my way home. The animals needed our help.

With everything buried under the ice, they wouldn't be able to reach

the food underneath.


    I pulled my car to the curb and stepped into a changed world. Ice
   
cracked and snapped beneath my feet, while power crews worked to clear

branches from the lines and repair severed wires. I was assaulted with

sounds: chainsaws roared, repair vehicles growled, and men yelled orders

to their co workers.


    During occasional breaks in the noise I heard something else, a
   
sound I knew, but had not heard in many years. The ice, melted by the

warm sun, broke free from small limbs and cracked on the ground. I

heard the pop of larger branches. They broke and crashed on the crust

covered lawns below. Higher branches snapped from the weight of the ice,

dropped on the branches below them and fell in a group, trailing ice

crystals behind them.


    I stood in a magical world - deadly, but beautiful - and listened
   
to the sounds. I heard the sound of children. They slid and laughed.

Their faces glowed with excitement. For them, this disaster was an

adventure, a new world to explore. Their eyes twinkled with excitement

at each  new discovery. They leaped over debris and tumbled down icy

slopes, totally unconcerned with the destruction.


    I smiled at their play and remembered my own childhood and a
   
storm we had when I was a boy of ten or eleven. Through the windows

of my parent's house, I watched the storm wreck my small community.

Ice grew thick on the electrical insulators and sparks flashed brightly.

I squealed with excitement each time the wind snapped another ice

covered wire. They laid like threatening snakes on the ice covered

ground and twitched in the wind. Boats, heavy with ice, threatened to

sink where they bounced on the waves in the harbor.


    The next morning, the storm over, I explored. Branches, covered
   
in ice, broke and fell when touched. Stalks of grass poked through

the snow like upside down icicles. They snapped and clattered over

the hardened snow when I kicked them. I discovered the hill in front

of my house had been covered with a hard shell of ice over snow, and

I ran for my little red sleigh.


    I stood and looked down the slope to the harbor. Sunlight reflected
   
off the icy surface. I shielded my eyes, pursed my lips, and lowered

my sled to the ice. I stretched out and held myself still, my damp

wool mittens freezing to the ice. My heart hammered in my chest. Happy

the hard crust held my weight, I smiled, sucked in a deep breath and

pushed off.


    I shot down the hill, gained speed, and screamed with pleasure.
   
My hands gripped the handles tightly, causing my cold fingers to

turned white inside my mittens. The metal runners rattled over the

ripples in the ice. The frigid wind made my eyes tear. The cold turned

my cheeks red. My hat blew off and wind whistled past my ears. At

top speed, I leaned into the first turn and slipped to the right.

On the second turn, I tipped to the side, gained control, and ripped

down the final slope to the bottom.


    My heart continued to hammer in my chest as I neared the end.
   
I rocked on my sled to gain the last few feet. I stopped and wobbled

when I tried to stand. The pounding in my ears slowed, and I raced

back to the top, to do it again. All day I played my solitary game.

If I crashed, my body would bounce over the ice. I'd lay on my back

and wait for a pretend ambulance to cart me away.


    A chunk of ice struck the pavement by my feet and my thoughts
   
returned to the present. The noises returned, the children played,

the men worked, the ice and branches fell. I kicked a broken limb,

climbed into my car and smiled.


Michael T Smith

If you want to send comments, please send them to mtsmith@qwestonline.com.

I love hearing from you.


To read my stories or to sign up
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http://archives.zinester.com/86758/
Keep on waving


Here is a comment on last weekends story.

Great story Michael,

I can't wait to hear part 2.

It reminded me of the simpler times we grew up in during the 50's and

60's when he had to use out own imaginations to have fun. When there

was a lot of snow we always had extensive snow caves and fortifications,

and all the kids in the neighbourhood took part in the war games as

well as street ball hockey (in Canada of course). In the summertime

we had the equivalent hideouts in the local wooded areas not yet

developed into strip malls and industrial uses.

Take care, and I'm sorry to hear that you are being blocked in some

areas.

Ed