A Christmas Tale: Can I have some Figgy Puddin’, please (i.e. The Classic Holiday Story)

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“Sometimes, the classics are the best of tales, even in reposts. Happy holidays to One and All!” Gun Roswell

The year was 1845. I was about ten years of age and working as a stable girl. Our family lived and worked in Lord Hamilton’s manor house. It was Christmas time and as a gift for the servants, the Lord arranged a feast for the staff and their families.

Mommy had the children dressed in their Sunday best. My two brothers were complaining about the stiffness of the shirts. Starch was itchy and could cause rash, especially if one scratched the itch.
I had my favourite dress on and my younger sister was a bit jealous of the red and green colouring. She was wearing a plain blue coloured hand me down.

After all the fuzz and hassle with the wardrobe, the whole family was finally set to go to the main house and start with the Christmas dinner. Us servants would be dining in the large kitchen. Several long tables were brought in with extra seats as well. This wasn’t a large household. With around fifteen servants and their families, well not all had children and spouses, all in all around sixty people in total crammed around the tables. The two cooks had had their hands full with the preparations and naturally every one that could had chipped in.

But now it was time for celebration. Everyone was finally sitting down and getting quiet. After grace the noise level rose again. Food containers were passed around and everyone was filling their respective plates. After all, it wasn’t often we got to eat in this manner and variety.

After a while, everyone had cleared their plates and it was time for dessert. My favourite was the Figgy Pudding. If possible I opted for seconds. As I got my plate of the delicious substance before me, I licked my lips and dug into it with gusto. It did not take too long for the food to disappear from my plate.

My mom looked at me with a smirk. I looked back at her and passing my bowl I asked: “Is there any Figgy Puddin’ left?”

I was smiling widely, feeling exhilarated, when the bowl was passed back to me with an other helping.

When the final bits were eaten, it was time for the traditional sing along. The farmhand brought out his accordion and after the first few tunes, we all joined in. The evening was spent singing, chatting and finally picking up the tables. We all went back to our dwellings, thanking the Lord for the special meal.

Merry Pudding and God bless us everyone!

Snowflakes

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“Snowflakes are falling down” Gun Roswell

Snowflakes

Tiny little things
Fragile, but they sing
A harmonious song
All of them singing along
As they venture way down
On to the solid ground
There is a soft thud
But nothing heard aloud
Piling on top of each other
Forming a blanket tether
Strong enough to walk on
Completing this monotonous song
Until such time the snowfall
Starts another round
And the circle continues
Until it’s time to loose
To the warmth of sunshine

Alphabets in poetry (seven)

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“Flowers thar be in the fields, at least until this summer season ends” Gun Roswell


W is for pretty white flowery things
Which in the warm summer wind sing
Swaying gently in the rhythm of the tune
Watchers young and old alike star to swoon
Flowers growing in the garden
Flowers on the side of the streets
White mixed with a lot of green
Nature giving us a artistic showing

The vibrancy of the season 

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“The vibrant colours of the season have come to life just as it’s about that time, when we start turning to winter’s cover of white” Gun Roswell 

The vibrancy of the season 

The leaves are slowly turning from the lush greens to the mellow yellows, perky oranges and those on the more fiery side of red. And the intent is less to shock but rather to make all those  onlookers flock, in awe and admiration, of the pallet of nuances and differences on those various leaves, on bushes and trees, even the odd flowery stem, receiving a much more colourful hem, than existed in the summer, as Mother Nature is continuing the tie dying task of the materials all out there willingly joining in the project, as it is all part of the process in the change, from summer, to fall and to the last step of it all, the winter season when the white blanket finally covers it all. But for this moment, all of the participants will be holding the special coatings on, the multitude of colours and their accompanying odours will be the centre piece of the show in progress. The flashing lights and clicking of shutters the sounds heard all around as the audiences new found interest is no less, this autumn time out there in nature on this blue sphere.

May Day!

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“The day fir workers to relax? To enjoy some time off? Well, I know I’m still working so?” Gun Roswell

May Day!

“May Day! May Day!”
The clock blared
As the alarm went off
I woke up with a scoff
“What the F…!”
As this, was supposed to be my day off!

Clearing my throat, with a cough
I quickly got up, in a huff and a puff
Waking, this early in the morning, was tough

I looked at the clock on the wall
Figuring some way, to stall
But the only option, was my ass outside to haul

First view from the window
Did my foggy mind blow
As I rubbed my eyes, little did I know
The only thing I would see, was more snow

What the hell was going on?
I thought May was summer’s dawn
But this plan has one big flaw
The winter has raised its ugly claw

It must have been because of the weather
My alarm clock had made this error
Waking me up early, knowing
I only, could this task endeavour

So now, it was up to me
The land and air rid of the freeze
To bring forth the sunshine and warm breeze
Just had to figure out, how this task to seize!

If I only had powers of magic
I would just pull out some gimmick
But unfortunately, my witchery has a limit

So, for now, I just taped on an image
Onto the window with a view quite idyllic
A summery green meadow,
The warmer weathers to mimic

Frosted Blues

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“That moment, when the blues hits, the same time of the day, when nature paints all the outside in the same colour as is the mental mood of the on out there, standing on display.” Gun Roswell

Frosted Blues

The mood reflected all around, from skies to the ground, the colour varied in hues, but it is, definitely, the Blues.

No matter the time of year, no matter, whether the sun was up there or simply the grey clouds spreading their shades of two.

It is always the same, at the exact moment of the day, when it all happens, out there, where no one dares to even imagine the why’s out of fear.

But those familiar with the colour, the many shades of it, no matter what they call it, it will go by one single name, the Blues.

Dare to embrace it, feel it, sing it, hang on to it for the moment when it hits, as in a split second, it will surround you and then, like it did hit, it will be gone as quick as that.

Trying to hang on to it, is never good, and why you really shout not, can be tough, but letting go, is the better choice, as the spell of it is luring, and the pain enduring while under the Blues, rewarding.

But it will never really be gone, as long as you are one with nature, so, without hatred, embrace the Blues and when the moment hits, live in it, but let go, and more strong will you be.

As the Blues is not something anyone should really own.

Frosted

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“It looks like someone sprayed frosting all over the trees, like on a cake!” Gun Roswell

Frosted

The wintery forest like a magical garden, all in so many shades of white, the frozen snow and ice, looking more like a topping on some food thing than anything natural.

But, we all know nature performs miracles and winter is among those for sure, the sugary coating looking all too good, but certainly not something anyone would chew on.

Still, it looks pretty while it lasts, the picture perfect draft of an image, taken in haste, as the cold seeping in through the cracks of this human being, only wanting to have the perfect memory of a winter’s day to last.

Flash Frozen (meaning very quickly)

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“When the cold front hits, well, things get frozen solid.” Gun Roswell

Flash Frozen (meaning very quickly)

The problem or beauty of winter is, that when the temperatures plummet, the waters get frozen, no matter in the creek or on top of a dozen, the weather really never discriminates not for nature or human nor animal alike, they all freeze if no cover is applied

So, when you come upon a gorgeous display, of something frozen in their way, still life for the times, or at least, until the warm front hits again and melting process starts, revealing a living thing underneath all that ice, surviving the harsh coldness of winter, which is alway nice

Frozen in spacetime

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“The wintery scene, pretty as can be, frozen in time in the picture perfect frame” Gun Roswell 

Frozen in spacetime

The blue is the hue, even in the midst of all the white, as the light of the day, is absorbed by the nights they call polar up north

And so, getting there, into the forest, when the blues hits the nature, frozen on each and every surface, as is the moment in time

With one single snap, the very moment will last, not just in the memories nor the personal data banks of the snapper, rather all over the internet, where it was so thoughtfully placed

A picture perfect moment, frozen during winter times, now frozen in space time

Frozen Flakes

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“The frosted glass, simply stained by the flakes frozen when the temperature plummeted” Gun Roswell

Frozen Flakes

The artwork made by a winter’s storm onto the glass of the window quite worn

It wasn’t even that cold outside, but those flash frozen flakes, which during the night fell

Were plastered onto the surface, while the snow fall was trying to find purchase

And so, forming the most gorgeous art in the form of the various shapes

Only lasting there for a moment, the while the temperature remains under zero

And so, doing my best, in trying to preserve all of this, fading art before

They all start to melt away