Mother Nature and Father Time: Winter

Mother Nature looked out over the universe while wrapping her long earthy hair into a giant bun. She was regal looking and wise, with eyes that said so much in the afternoon suns.

Not old or young, Mother Nature was timeless — as it was, as she has always lived and always will live. Her hair was the color of mud and autumn leaves with a just a hint of snow-capped mountain tops.

She drummed her fingers on the kitchen sink.

“I don’t know,” she said out loud. Her voice was maple syrup, drizzling out into the room.

Father time looked up from the paper, “What don’t you know?”

He was sitting by the eternal fireplace, slowly but steadily forever-burning with a flickering blue flame.

Mother Nature and Father Time have been together before the earth was born. They oversee all matter, scattered around the universe like sprinkles on an infinite cupcake. It came as no surprise when Mother Nature was thinking about something important (as she always was) and Father Time was ever-patient with her, (as he always had been).

They complemented each other, doing a song and dance that ended with creating new worlds. Mother Nature was extremely intelligent and impulsive — and Father Time was a tinkerer, fine tuning things to make sure they worked properly. When Mother Nature formed dinosaurs out of clay, he made sure they weren’t all carnivores. When she painted the sunset with her giant paint brush, he adjusted the sky accordingly, turning down the dial into night.

Communication was important between them, even when no words were said. Father Time ran his hands through his thick gray beard. He had a bit of a belly paunch now, created by the long winter and too many sweets. He watched his wife stare out the window.

He could tell she was happy, but trying to hide it. Her mouth hid a small smile that kept curling outwards as she drummed her slender fingers on the copper basin.

“As you know, it’s my favorite time of year…” Mother Nature blurted out, finally.

She was of course talking about Winter. It was the time when things were quiet, and she could dream all day about the blossoming Spring. All of her notebooks were decorated with strange and wonderful flowers, the dewy mist on the lush mountain tops of new growth, and newborn animals, wobbly taking their first steps.

For now, however, humans and animals alike were slowing down, hibernating, reflecting on the past with feelings of nostalgia. Mother Nature just had to focus on the weather.

Father Time put down his paper fully now, waiting for her to finish her thought. He started stuffing tobacco in his pipe, made from an old, weathered tree that fell over a thousand years ago.

Her eyes beamed, “Let’s give them a white Christmas this year! They love that kind of stuff!”

Mother Nature was smiling widely now, all of her teeth showing her glee. She “loved that kind of stuff” too, creating unadulterated momentary joy for her family. Father Time exhaled, happy it wasn’t anything too monumental but more sentimental. He too enjoyed the quiet of winter, and really enjoyed sleeping in under their warm flannel sheets.

“Alright,” he said, brushing off his corduroy pants, “Ladies first.”

Mother Nature rolled her eyes and started rubbing her hands together until little tiny white-hot sparks slowly emerged from her palms. The sparks grew from each other, until a sphere-like mound of white snow appeared. She sprinkled the sparkling snow on rooftops and parked cars, watching the people run to their windows in awe. Mother nature loved watching them form snowmen themselves, much like she did when she created humans.

Father Time got up from his favorite chair and joined Mother Nature. Looking out the window together, the slow fluttered down in soft cascades. It was beautiful. He looked at his wife. She was beautiful. He kissed her cheek and smiled with her.

“May I?” He finally asked. Mother Nature was skeptical. He hardly liked to do the dishes, much less help create a wistful weather pattern.

Father Time lit his pipe and slowly blew out a snow flurry puff of smoke, watching it roll onto the streets in subtle clouds. At the same moment, a large white dog with a bear-like face bounded out into the snow, almost invisible from a distance, except for it’s dark brown eyes peering through the white.

“Not bad,” Just then, she returned his kiss and wrapped her arms around him. They held each other close — watching the snow dance among the children’s eyes and hearts.