An excerpt from 'Tales of Upton Downes' |
Yuletide Spirit I struggle on through drifted snow, the forest looms ahead, a short-cut through the thicket may lead me safe to bed. Darkness drops from lowering skies these late December eves, and gloom turns into blackness beneath foreboding trees. Brambles crunch and clutch chilled feet, my path has petered out. Turn left, go back, or forge ahead? I’m shivering with doubt. Then all at once, a gleam shines forth where two brown trunks rise slanted. I stumble to an open door that’s wondrously enchanted. I gaze into a vast, bright hall, it's filled with dancing elves. The air, perfumed with roasting meat, resounds with tinkling bells. Their master sports green holly boughs and cheeks of berry red, a beard of ice surrounds his face, a crown adorns his head. 'Welcome weary traveler!' the yuletide spirit cries. 'Stamp thy boots and doff thy cap, a feast awaits inside!' He leads me to long tables piled with fruit and fresh baked bread, rich soups and steamy puddings complete the sumptuous spread. Flaring torches ring the scene and flickering above, bright fireflies and darting sprites play tag with turtledoves. I shed my coat most eagerly and warm myself with ale. The marvels of this winter night will fill a dozen tales! Author's note: ▼ |