Daily Archives: December 24, 2011
The witch cackled into the frosty night. The cold air blew her hair in all directions. Her near-translucent locks flailed violently. The tentacles of her hair bit and stung her pale white face. She spat into the bubbling cauldron. If they wanted to banish her from these lands, these lands which belonged to her father, they would have to do a lot more than beat her. The stench of blood tickled her nose. Ancient phrases escaped her lips in a murmur. She dipped her fingers into the frothing mixture before marking her arms and face. A curse would plague this land. She watched as the last ingredient, a single snowflake, fell into the concoction. Something erupted from within the cauldron and the liquid cascaded down the hill, weaving between the pine trees, searching.
- Ermisenda Alvarez
And then she went
where everyone she knew
Would be gathered together
as their celebration ensue
To welcome the winter
having their yearly festival
Amid their fun and joy
would her revenge befall
Oozing her poison behind
down corridors she flew
As without the countryside
destruction of all that grew
That when it was done
a barren wasteland lay behind
Inside the sick and dying
would be left to find
To let out a cackle
was so hard to resist
That she had to stifle
it with balled up fist
Yes, this was the time
she’d make the town pay
For what they had done
to her on this day!
As outside the snow
the dying ground did kiss
And freezing her poison
dead in its track
When came riding in
a woman on horseback
‘Twas the white witch
from the north come
Astride her faithful steed
the unicorn “Sugar Plum”
Together they made haste
for the great hall
To end the wicked witch
once and for all!
Teresa Marie 12/24/11 ©
When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war.
He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier.
The father was notified and grievedeeply forhis only son.
bout a month later, just before Christmas,
There was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door
with a large package in his hands..
He said, ‘Sir, you don’t know me, but I am the soldier for whom
your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was
carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and
he died instantly… He often talked about you, and your love for art.’
The young man held out this package. ‘I know this isn’t much.
I’m not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.’
Opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man.
He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son
in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled
up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture..
‘Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It’s a gift.’
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home
he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other
great works he had collected.
The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings.
Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and
having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.
On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel.
‘We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?’
There was silence…
Then a voice in the back of the room shouted,
‘We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.’
But the auctioneer persisted. ‘Will somebody bid for this painting?
Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?’
Another voice angrily. ‘We didn’t come to see thispainting.
We came to see the Van Gogh’s, the Rembrandts. Get on with the Real bids!’
But still the auctioneer continued. ‘The son! The son! Who’ll take the son?’
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room.
It was the long-time gardener of the man and his son.
‘I’ll give $10 for the painting…’ Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.
‘We have $10, who will bid $20?’
‘Give it to him for $10. Let’s see the masters.’The crowd was becoming angry. They didn’t want the picture of the son.
They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel.. ‘Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!’
A man sitting on the second row shouted, ‘Now let’s get on with the collection!’
The auctioneer laid down his gavel. ‘I’m sorry, the auction is over.’
‘What about the paintings?’
‘I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction,
I was told of a secret stipulation in the will… I was not allowed to reveal
that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned.
Whoever bought paintingthat would inherit the entire estate,including the paintings.
The man who took the son gets everything!’
Godgave His son over 2,000 years ago to die on the Cross.
Much like the auctioneer, His message today is:
‘The Son, the Son, who’ll take the Son?‘
Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything