Emollient

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      Maud Lewis (1903-1970), Canadian folk artist, Nova Scotia

 

     I have taken this train before. Its small track lies in a little circle at the base of the tree adorned with its garlands and ornaments and colored lights.

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     Looking up from the track, I can still see it, the distant treetop with its white-gowned angel. Sitting cross-legged in Christmas pajamas, I happily move my tiny train around its circle, inhaling the crisp fragrance of the evergreen.

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     The snow fields lie behind my eyelids. I trudge them in my heavy scarf and bulging coat and mittens, my cheeks cold beneath the emollient mother slathered to protect against chapping.

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     Our foot-tracks are obscured, now, by discarded gift wraps and red bows and bright blue ribbons. The train sits waiting at its station. Time has kept it idle, is now the emollient softening its colors, dulling its details, protecting all the little etceteras of that winter that I have forgotten.

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     But I have taken this train before.

 

Ron Wetherington