Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Winter (11/14/05)
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TITLE: In The Bleak Midwinter | Previous Challenge Entry
By Alexandra Wilkin
11/21/05 -
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Do you see the frost and feel the wind in all thy toil?
Have thee eyes to see the white that coverts all renewal,
Or, perhaps, the gloom to you is as some precious jewel
Thomas, eyes drawn tight against the gloom, studied the freshly inscribed words on the page, his quill held hovering over the paper with inky fingers. His eye was drawn back again to the third line… 'Have thee eyes to see the white that coverts all renewal.' Thomas wrapped the thin blanket around his shoulders, and drew the meagre candle closer to the page, as the icy tentacles of a chill draught licked at his neck and tormented his limbs. Thoughts of his mother, wrapping him in her shawl on her lap as she read psalms and gospel passages to him, offered him some comfort in the bare brown room. The freshly fallen snow on the streets below hid the grime and dirt of the poverty stricken neighbourhood, and thin children covered in torn rags threw balls of it at each other, finding joy for a moment in the increased cold and scarcity of their meagre lives. Thomas bent again over the page.
Have thee heart to cherish most the love the lights the spark?
Hath day of work and night of woe left blind the purer mark?
Wherein the winters do you see the hope of newer day,
Doth live your heart in winter land or keep it you in May?
Thomas thought about his precious manuscript, the story he had so painstakingly written throughout the summer, when even the scarcity of this bare brown room could not dampen his enthusiasm for the craft. It seemed like years and not weeks since he had nervously left the manuscript with the publisher. The aching in his heart to hear some word from them gnawed at his thoughts as the hunger gnawed at his stomach; Mrs Lassiter provided one meal a day and a room for the rent his work as a clerk provided.
Doth soul and heart give sight to thee when sun is brief above?
Let you in the Lord of all who guideth thee in love?
Doth come your heart to Him in trust when all is in despair,
When faith is hard in harder times, will trust ye to his care?
Eyes sore in the dim light, Thomas put down his quill and closed them for a moment; he should finish this later and rest, for he knew he wrote poorly when he was tired and had inherited his mothers meticulous nature where the writing of words were concerned. Not for the first time he wondered if it was his own whims he was trusting or in the Lords, and the lack of any word from the publishers did not help settle his mind on the matter. Once again he prayed, Dear Lord if you want me to stop writing…please dear Lord, please show me; I am tired Lord. And again he chastised himself for expecting some instant answer for so unimportant a thing, when children were dying on the streets from hunger.
The light insistent knocking on his door jarred Thomas from the slight slumber he had begun to fall into, and he stumbled from his chair, rubbing at the stiffness in his neck.
‘Yer ’ad a let’er delivered today,’ said Mrs Lassiter, thrusting the slim brown envelope into Thomas’ hands. Thomas nodded at the woman, whose gin flushed face normally only appeared at the door when the rent was due.
‘I don’t mind this once Mr Bainbridge; yer a good tenant and yer pay yer rent on time. But I ’aint a postal service and I can’t be havin’ with runnin’ up and down taking men their post. Collect it off the table next time.’
‘Yes Mrs Lassiter. I don’t normally get anything so I did not think to look; please forgive me.’
Mrs Lassiter sniffed, mollified by the apology and the contrite tone in Thomas’ voice; she delicately gathered up the folds of worn lilac material, nodded at Thomas and made her way back down the corridor.
Shaking from cold, hunger and nervousness, Thomas opened the envelope and begun to read.
‘Dear Mr Bainbridge, having read your manuscript we would like to meet with you at your earliest convenience to discuss its publication…’
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