It was cold outside. The piercing gusts bit my rosy cheeks and I pulled my jacket tighter. The night was cloudless, and the plump, pale moon shone in its center, illuminating the road. I shivered. As I trotted hurriedly, a warm, cream-yellow light flickered in the distance, catching my tainted eye. It came from a great hill, starting from a gravel pathway that twisted to a manor at its peak; the light came from its grand ballroom window. I stepped at foot. Inside the window, silhouettes of couples with flailing arms danced in and out of my view. It must have been a party.
There, the Hall lit up before me, sparkling with the greatest of grace and elegance: such that it must have been carved from pure gold. The gilded walls, and the hanging paintings too, were golden. The hardwood floors, where the dancing heels clicked and tapped, were golden. And the chandeliers, hanging on a vaulted ceiling, were golden, illuminated by dozens of flickering candles.
Then, just as vividly, my own shack appeared before me, its rock-grey, frost-chilled walls waiting to greet with the cold disdain I returned to night after night after night.
Shaking this unwelcome image from me, I journeyed back to the ball of that grand manor. Dazzling gowns flew as they glided round the floor, next to their dates, clothed in handsome black. Once the music receded, the multitude courteously applauded. Another, softer piece followed and the dancing ended; some went their separate ways, some as two, greeting friends, chatting easily, eventually finding their ways to the refreshment table, filled with effervescent, rose-hinted punch, and goodies of all sorts. The gaiety felt eternal: what a foreign feeling it was. With a cling of a bell, the party retreated, entering an adjacent room.
Trapped, I sighed. The grand hall faded away as I stood there, unwilling to move. For I had no golden manor party to go to, not even a sinking, warm armchair to recline in. Only reality, cold as she was, unfriendly to those who found themselves helpless, without a penny to offer, and a heartless cackle.
Clank! The metal can ran across the hardened ground as my swaying foot found its place again. To say all that this night, this cold hard night, deserved!
A deep, unnerving silence set over my soul as I began. No, I heard myself saying in the emptiness of my heart, No. No! The sound resounded into the night with a soft echo. No. No, there is no ‘cold hard night,’ only a blessed one. One in which the greatest King lovingly abides with me always. Serving, aiding, caring, everlasting. A feeling swelled up in my chest, almost choking me. This, I knew, was a greater gift than many golden manor parties. The idea was the basis of my youth; why does it feel so strange? But, I resolved, it no longer shall be. May this be the cornerstone of my life, forever and ever, I murmured into my heart, knowing my prayer was heard.
Pulling me out of myself, the dances did halt inside the manor. The silhouettes traversed off from my view. Suddenly, soft and honey-like, music came from afar. “Rejoice! Rejoice! Ema-a-anuel!” “Shall come to thee, O I-I-Israel,” I whispered back. I knew that I could never have heard voices from this distance. Yet, that first line was sung. No one could convince me otherwise.
By Elisabeth Smith ‘28, Assistant Editor-in-Chief
28esmith@montroseschool.org
