Theme week 4

The Mama Mitten
She is skiing alone on a familiar trail. She is looking at animal tracks as she pushes the skis ahead of her. She hears a blue jay. She has skied further than usual. She is too warm so she takes off the first layer of mittens. She thinks of the mom who had made the mittens before she passed away. It is getting dark and she is almost back to car. She stops because the sun is going down and she is cooling. She reaches in her pocket for the mittens and realizes one has fallen out of her pocket. She turns back, retracing her ski trail. She is about to give up, when she sees the mitten half buried in the snow. She is so glad to have found it, but knows she is going to really tired by the time she gets back to the car.

The Mama Mitten
She is skiing alone on a familiar trail. She doesn’t mind the aloneness. She is looking at animal tracks as she pushes the skis ahead of her. Today there are only coyote tracks and tracks of small animals, maybe rabbits. There is a foot of fresh snow and the deer and moose must be still bedded up, not moving around much this afternoon. She often imagines they have just stepped off the trail ahead of her and are watching her ski by. She hears a blue jay. “EEE-AY, EEE-Ay.” calls the raspy, raucous voice. She has skied further than usual and is sweating in the seven degrees. She stops to take off the brown and white double knit mittens that her mom had made before she passed away. She watches the steam rise off her hands as she thinks of her mom. She is still taking care of her Cindy Lou, keeping her hands warm. She remembers when she was a child and had so much trouble getting to sleep. Her mom would come into the room, rub her back and say, “Turn your face to the wall Cindy Lou and shut your eyes. You have nothing to worry about. I’m here. Go to sleep.” She remembers that she used to have a gold locket with her mom’s picture in it. It was lost somewhere in the childhood. She would love to have it around her neck instead of in her memories. It is getting dark and she is almost back to her car. She is glad to be back because the sun is going down and she is cooling rapidly. She reaches in her pocket for the mittens and realizes one has fallen out of her pocket. She is so tired that the snow begins to look like her white down comforter on her bed, but she turns back, retracing her ski trail. She imagines that if she doesn’t find it the little night animals will make a home in it like in a Jan Brett book. But there, half buried in the snow, looking like a snow covered pine cone, is the mitten. She turns toward home, the Mama mitten keeping her warm once again.


The Mama Mitten
She is skiing alone on a familiar trail. She doesn’t mind the aloneness. She is looking at animal tracks as she pushes the skis ahead of her. Today there are only coyote tracks and tracks of small animals, maybe rabbits. There is a foot of fresh snow and the deer and moose must be still bedded up, not moving around much this afternoon. She often imagines they have just stepped off the trail ahead of her and are watching her ski by. She hears a blue jay. “EEE-AY, EEE-Ay.” calls the raspy, raucous voice. She has skied further than usual and is sweating in the seven degrees. She stops to take off the brown and white double knit mittens that her mom had made before she passed away. She watches the steam rise off her hands as she thinks of her mom. She is still taking care of her Cindy Lou, keeping her hands warm. She remembers when she was a child and had so much trouble getting to sleep. Her mom would come into the room, rub her back and say, “Turn your face to the wall Cindy Lou and shut your eyes. You have nothing to worry about. I’m here. Go to sleep.” She remembers that she used to have a gold locket with her mom’s picture in it. It was lost somewhere in the childhood. She would love to have it around her neck instead of in her memories. It is getting dark and she is almost back to her car. She is glad to be back because the sun is going down and she is cooling rapidly. She reaches in her pocket for the mittens and realizes one has fallen out of her pocket. She is tired, but she turns back, retracing her ski trail. She is close to the end of the trail, still not finding the mitten. The snow looks so soft, so much like the white down comforter on her bed and she is tired, so tired. She will just lie down for a minute. She hears the blue jay again. This time he is saying, “This way, this way.” in his raspy voice. She starts to ski. It is like nothing she has ever done before. There is no friction under her skis. It is as close to flying as she has ever felt. She uses her poles just to steer as she flies across the snow. Coyotes run out onto the trail beside her. She is not afraid. They are like friendly dogs. Tongues rolling, eyes dancing. Rabbits appear and join the coyotes. A small family of deer step out to watch the group, nodding their heads, their big brown eyes enjoying the sight. Suddenly there is no earth under her. She has skied out into the air. A white hole opens in front of her. She feels herself falling. She is on the white comforter again, warm and sleepy. She feels something brush her cheek. She opens one eye. The blue jay is here again, so close she can smell the fresh, wild, feathery scent of it. It has something in it’s mouth. It looks like a snow covered pine cone. No, it is the mitten. She slips her frozen hand inside and feels warm metal against her fingers. The down comforter turns cold and wet as snow as she takes the locket out and opens it to see her mother’s miniature face. The face turns to her and starts to speak. “Turn your face to the sky, Cindy Lou. Open your eyes. It’s not time for you. Don’t worry. I’m here.”