on the wind, 'cross the seas, hear this song and remember

  There is a girl, a young girl with her hair in braids, sitting on the swing. She points her toes and tries to touch the ground. The wind sighs, a lonely sound, as she feels the thick rope rough in her small hands, and tries to remember the words to the tune her grandmother would sing her to sleep with. Something about bears with wings and snow in December. There is probably a music box somewhere, with a key that fits into the lock and winds up like clockwork, that plays this slow, strange melody. But she doesn't know this. The colour of the sky never changes, but she is content to wait.

  Her brother comes running through the trees, dry leaves crunching softly beneath his shoes. There is a maple leaf caught in his hair, honey coloured and veined light brown entangled in red, and she laughs to see this. But he doesn't know this. It matches, she giggles, and he looks bewildered. What does, he asks. Come closer, she says and plucks the leaf out of his hair and holds it out to him. He stares at it for a moment before she lets it fall to the ground.

  It's cold, she mutters, rubbing her bare arms. You should have worn your jacket, he chides, shrugging out of his and draping it around her. She pulls it closer for warmth and her mumbles her thanks.

  Let's go back, he says.

  The swing creaks as she gets up and takes his hand.

soon you'll be home with me, once upon a December.
 

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