A Winter Dance

The snow used to make me miserable.

The frigid air seeping through the cracks in my wood, the icy water that poured down my branches like candle wax.

When all that was left was a mound of snow piled on my roots and branches like winter clothes, I would shed my wooden bark in favor of amber skin. Dewy green hair and mossy eyes.

My honey colored limbs would bend in the wind, and the wind would cradle me.

Hello, hello, the wind sang. Hello.

Goodbye, I would whisper, shivering as I lifted my chin. The snowflakes would bite my exposed neck, and my warm exhale would melt every bit of ice that dared come close.

Then the snow would melt and the wind would leave. Still, the clouds often lingered. They trailed behind, little whispers that curled around my branches, adorning me in mist.

For a moment my leaves would lean into the clouds, curling out like fingers brushing against a lover’s hand. But then I would turn away, the mist would fade, and summer would come.

This winter was different. Perhaps you were emboldened by the fact that this winter would be short, as the summer before was long and hazy. I spent that time in a stretch of light and laziness, but this winter arrived in a shroud of frost that startled me into awareness.

And from the storm, you emerged.

Pale skin. White and gray eyes. Cropped hair, that clung to the curve of your ear like the tendrils of mist that so often hugged my branches.

Hello, you whispered, and this time I did not turn away.

I told you what it felt like to dance in the wind, and you taught me the ethereal beauty of stillness. You were captivating in the way that every uncharted mountain remains. A world of wonder. I wanted to explore every inch.

Still, when the frigid bite of air began to ebb, we struck up a firm boundary.

Friends, you said when your cold fingers linked mine. Our hands slid together like a sheet of ice in water.

Friends, I said when your pale skin contrasted my golden arms. I held you like amber encasing an insect. But you were not trapped. Eventually, winter melted and summer returned. The amber dissolved and the insect flew.

I waited for that bite of ice all summer long, but when it returned it was weak. You only showed for short periods of time, and when I touched you we made patterns in the smoke that rose from your heated gaze.

Friends, we insisted when our hands linked once more, tugging each other closer into a final embrace before the end of the season. Because love is eternal, and we were not. Because I felt the warning deep in the earth and up in the sky. We are warming, the roots of the earth rumbled. Warming, the heights of the sky murmured. The world was heating up. We were standing on an earth that was turning molten with wrath from human neglect and cruelty.

All plants need the sun but I also needed you.

Still, I wasn’t sure how long I would have you.

*

I have always loved the snow.

The air was alive with ice that lended me wings made of wind and frozen water. I would dance between snowflakes and dive into clouds.

Frost would breathe against the smallest of flowers, caking them in diamond dresses. He would clothe every tree with glittering crowns and make winter a glorious display. A ball called stillness where no one danced, but still attended in long white gowns.

Still, you never liked the gaudy ornaments. They hung icicles and powdered snow on your branches like you were some lady of the court, but you shook off any residue after the storm had passed, shifting to a woman with mossy hair amber skin, and gorgeous green eyes. 

I tried to say hello. I was wind and mist and a spirit made of snow, but you turned away and refused to grant me a dance in this winter ball.

For moments, though, when you were tree instead of girl, I felt your branches bend to my wind. Your leaves would curl in my mist. Catching the little wisps before they faded forever. 

I knew that the earth was warming. I knew that this winter would be shorter than ever, that the summer would be harsh and long. And I knew that the forests were dwindling. Rows of stumps. Miles of scorched earth. I feared for you. I feared time.

So I emerged from Winter’s storm, separating my mist and flecks of snow from the rest and taking the form of a man.

Your lashes fluttered, and I caught a glimpse of golden eyelids before startling green eyes caught mine.

In the beginning, we just watched each other. Then you gave me the smallest smile I had ever seen, and I knew that you had accepted me.

You taught me how to dance in the rain and I told you what it was like to be a current of wind above a mountain of snow, an ocean that did not move.

We grew close, then closer still. Your fingers, sliding down my chest. Your cheek, resting against mine. But we took it no further than the simplest of touches. Hand holding. Sweet embraces.

But the forests were growing smaller. Friends, I told you, though your fingers did not loosen their grip on mine. Friends, you replied. When you slid your arms around my neck and swayed like I was still the wind, I almost argued.

But I had ran along the furthest corners of the sky and knew that it was only a matter of time before the masses of harsh metal reached your home. Before the monster of sharp axe made you bleed golden sap.

So we remained friends, despite the love in our souls. Despite the red string of fate that connected us grew more tangled with every visit, looping around our wrists and necks like a dire warning.

Winter comes and goes.

But I hope you stay here a little longer.