December
A
new
day was
born but it
took a while for
anyone to
notice. A thick fog
rolled in from the near-by
forest just before the break of
dawn and muffled the persistent barking
of the neighbour's dog.
A deer stopped at the edge of
a clearing; it sniffed the wet air
and moved on hesitantly, the snow crunching
under its small hoofs. Coloroured lights around a
window blinked in two-second intervals. Trees stood
still and dark, their trunks absorbing
the soft electric light. A car started in the
neighbour's yard. Someone woke up and turned on a radio;
the news were about interest rates, failed mergers, bloody coups,
and hockey matches. A tea kettle whistled. The kitchen smelled of Christmas
baking.
A child
cried and
a factory siren deep in the valley pierced the fog.
It was time to get up, go to work and buy presents.

Article copyright 1997 Dennis Kaska

© 1996 Interactive Broadcasting Corporation