12.29.2015
The dusk faded from the air and night descended over a small village that was nestled in a drowsy cove. Winds stirred the water’s surface and waves lapped gently at the cove’s sandy shore. Lanterns stood in the middle of the cobblestone street that lead south, along the coast, and to a neighboring town.
A small field sat next to the road, and children ran about between the tall grasses and wildflowers. The flowers swayed with the wind and speckled the night with muted colors as the lantern light caught them as they moved.
Parents called from house porches for their children to come inside for dinner. The sun’s heat kept the children warm tonight, even without jackets to block the wind. Two boys ignored their mother’s call and still ran about the field playing tag.
Just inside the trees that bordered that clearing , a wolf sat with eyes glowing with Lantern. Its tongue lapped hungrily at its lips. Thirty minutes later, the worried mother stood on the street, calling into the dark field and hearing no response. She stomped angrily back home, wringing the dishcloth that hung over her shoulder.
The boys’ father burst outside, with a lantern in hand and made his way from house to house. He knocked at each and asked if the boys were there. When the last home had told him the boys weren’t there, this father made his way to the field and held the lantern high as he scoured first the meadow and then the surrounding woods.
The tracks and trompings of all the town’s kids during their play made it impossible to divine any information from tracks on the ground and bent grass. The father shouted promises of spankings to the woods and then headed home. He consoled his wife by reminding her that the boys were older now, and probably thought they were exceedingly clever in hiding so well. How many times had the father done something like that in his childhood?
He sat a lantern on a hook on the porch and left the door unlocked. He poured himself and his wife a drink, and sat her down to work on her paintings, and then sat himself down to resume work on the knife’s handle he was whittling. Soon enough, they would tire of the game and come back for a hot meal.