Winter's Kiss

I was nine years old when I experienced my first snowfall and I remember the 

magic of the Goddess’s icy cloak that winter. The Earth awakened slowly that sunrise. 

The midnight landscape turned lilac, and then shifted to white tinged with blue as the 

sun rose slowly into the sky. Whisper soft falls of snow, floated like the down of white 

doves from a gray-silver sky. In the stillness of winters kiss upon the world, silence is 

loud; and the smallest sound is alive and vibrant. As the snow touched earth, it made little 

tapping sounds, the rustle of ice on ice. Bolder sounds seem to travel for miles. 

 During this time of year, The God is at rest, awaiting rebirth at Yule. The Earth 

slumbers with Him, as all the energies rejuvenate for renewal. As I looked out my 

bedroom window and beheld the wonder of the first real snowfall I had ever seen, I 

wondered for a moment if it was a dream, shared with the God, come to life for us all to 

see. 

I bundled up in all the winter-ware possible to a child in South Mississippi, for 

here such times are a rare gift indeed. As I trudged out into the ankle deep snow, I was 

greeted by the wind, snow touched and cold, blowing across my cheeks feeling like 

winter’s kiss. As I walked into the woods behind our house, snow fell on my eyelashes, 

beading them in icy diamonds, iridescent in the cloud-light. But on the blinking of my 

eyes, the diamonds fell like tears to my face, rolling towards the ground completing their 

earthward journey. 

In the forest, the trees stood in clusters, looking like a group of giants huddled 

together for warmth. The hardwoods were bare of any color, except the brown hues of 

their bark, which wore a thick white coat of glittering ice and frost. A few evergreens 

dotted the landscape, soft and shaggy under their crystalline blankets of snow their 

green needles and leaves stood out in stark contrast to the palate of white and browns. 

Occasionally the weight of the snow would cause a limb, unaccustomed to such assault, 

to give way and fall to the ground with a wet, splashing crash. The pines would 

sometimes simply spread their needles as a man might open the fingers of his hand and 

let the snow fall like trickles or the dropping a large icy pillow to the ground. 

At the end of one particular forest path, I came upon the field behind my home. 

As I stepped out of the tree line, I startled a huge flock of Black Birds. They rose from 

the snow covered ground and the naked trees into the air as a single great black cloud. 

The pounding of hundreds of wings made a tremendous noise that touched me 

somewhere deep inside; and I knew the smallness of myself against the amazing glory 

of nature and was glad that I was a part of all that is. 

As they rose into the sky, I recalled my great-grandmother telling me that the 

Crone sometimes watched over us on the wings of Black Birds. I waved to them hoping 

she would see me.

In the field, was an old fallen log that was once the trunk of a giant cedar. The 

log was so long that it laid almost the whole width of the inset of the field in which it had 

fallen giving some idea to its once great height. The needles and limbs that bore them 

had long since turned to dust. Despite the death of the cedar, it lived on through the 

numerous other cedars growing in the area, born from the seeds of this once beautiful 

parent, whose own parent had disappeared with time. Once again, the Goddess had 

found another way to teach the lesson of the spiral of life; birth, death and 

rebirth…continuously. 

I built my very first snowman in that field. Shiny rocks from the small forest creek 

made wonderful eyes and a cheery smile. They weren’t exactly the same, but it is the 

difference that the Goddess has created that makes for beauty in our world. Sometimes 

those differences are tiny and seem unimportant. But to a child who had a most curious 

eye, they seemed like small worlds. 

Living in a rural area, there were no children next door with which to play. We 

were often pulled as if by some unseen force that brought us all running to the forest 

between our homes. In that place, of pine and hardwoods, we enjoyed the gifts of our 

first winter snow to the fullest. 

The girls fought against the boys in a snowball fight that was, for most, a first. 

While the boys fought gallantly, the girls were the undisputed victors. We reveled in our 

victory in barbaric shouts and hoots and leapt out of our cover like savage Amazon 

warrior women and chased the boys demanding collection of victors kisses. The boys, 

being wholeheartedly opposed to such forfeits, ran as fast as they could deeper into the 

forest. I wonder if the Goddess and God winked and smiled at one another as They 

watched the mothers who lay waiting inside our young girls bodies, chose which boy to 

chase without our knowing. An act ancient and primal, the force of life. 

The boy I was chasing had red hair and freckles and he was the first boy I ever 

thought about with wistful sighs. He was fast and not far ahead of me, but he slowed 

and then stopped. I thought he was tired and I planned on running up to him and 

pushing him down in the snow. As I got to him he spun around with a strange gleam in 

his eye. Something in me fluttered and said to flee, but I stayed. He smiled oddly and 

grabbed me by both shoulders and kissed me solidly on the lips. Then, with a sheepish 

grin, he put his hands in his pockets and ran off into the woods leaving me blinking and 

staring after him. I wonder if the Goddess and God winked and smiled at one another, 

again, as the fathers laying waiting inside the bodies of young boys, chose which girls to 

stand still and be caught by. Four years later that little boy would be my first romance 

and first heartbreak. 

Our play took us deep within the heart of the wood where we often spent the bulk 

of our days when not in school. That morning, we saw the great, White –Tail stag 

referred to as The Old Gentleman by the community. No one knew how old he was, but 

his once tawny coat was now a soft blue-grey. His graceful body was marked with the 

scars of battle with rival stags and man but it did not take away from his beauty. His power and stance commanded respect and awe, so much so that among the local 

hunters, it was an unspoken law that he was not to be harmed by any man or woman. 

His fate was to be left to nature. He had won the right to continue his bloodline among 

the deer and would do so without interference from mankind. The Old Gentleman was 

the undisputed king of the forrest wood. 

He threw his head up as he smelled us on the air. He stood there with his rack of 

antlers full of the few greens and grasses left to the season, collected as he had been 

raking the trees and plants marking his territory. His massive muscles twitched as he 

pinned us all where we stood with his huge brown eyes and the noise of our play 

deserted us. Steam rose from his flaring nostrils as he blew loud exhalations of warm 

breath. While the other children made sounds of admiration for his size and presence, I 

was mesmerized. Dropping to my knees in the snow and I bowed my head in reverence 

for this embodiment of the spirit of the God. As I raised my eyes again to look upon 

him, he gazed at us with his head held high under a large rack of antlers. I hoped he 

would look upon me. 

His eyes were rimmed with long lashes that were wet with fallen snow. The 

moisture almost looked like tears as he turned his focus on me. In my child’s mind I 

thought he must be sad because so many people had forgotten the God and Goddess. 

“I remember,” I told him. “I will never forget.” 

The words spoken in my mind were silent to all but him and me. He looked at 

me a moment longer. With a powerful sigh, the stag shook the snow off his massive 

rack and blinked away the moisture from his eyes. The spell was broken and I 

discovered that I had, without realizing it, had risen to my feet and walked closer to him, 

dazed by some kind of desire to touch him. He turned away from us then and strolled 

deeper into the wood. Everyone else headed back to the field as I remained in the 

wood, quietly thankful for the gift of that experience. 

After hours of tromping up to our knees in snow and ice, everyone was wet and 

cold. The powerful growl of hunger in our bellies compelled us all to return to our homes 

for food and warmth. The cold winds blew snow onto every surface, giving it winter’s 

kiss, and our home was no exception. I straggled back, damp and shivering, out of the 

woods to see my family’s home nestled among the trees atop a hill. The snow spread 

on the shingle roof and red brick walls reminded me of icing, making the house look like 

a gingerbread house. The smoke from the fireplace rose slowly into the cold winter air 

making me rush toward the door, eager to warm myself before the crackling fire. With 

red cheeks and nose I blew into the door with snow descending all about me, excited to 

recall to my mother the adventures of the day. 

There, with the warmth of a cup of homemade hot chocolate between my hands, 

I told my mother about the birds, the snow ball fight, and with a blush of the cheeks that 

I hope was hidden by the flush of cold, I told my mother about the game of chase the 

kiss… well, I told her about some of the game. I described all the sights and sounds I had discovered on that day and I told her of the stag and his beauty. I kept the moment 

of being spell bound to myself. That was a gift to precious to share with anyone at the 

moment. I wanted to savor it and keep it hidden to hold its power within me. 

 After a hearty meal of steaming hot homemade soup and a warm bath, I closed 

myself away in my room. As I went to bed that night, with the moonlight lighting the 

world through my window in silver-blue, I said a prayer for The Old Gentleman. I asked 

the God and Goddess to keep him safe and to help him find all he needed for the 

winter. Throughout the remainder of the winter, I took vegetables from the refrigerator 

out into that place in the wood and left them for The Old Gentleman. I do not know if it 

was he who ate them or if it was one of his forest subjects, but I think the God would 

have been pleased with the offerings given to His children. 

That night I dreamed of a grand lady, heavy with child, walking through the forest 

surrounded by sparkling blue light, the Mother. She came to rest on the old fallen cedar 

and the black birds flew down to light all about her. Suddenly in their place was an 

elderly woman, her face beautiful and lined with lifetimes of wisdom, the Crone. The 

Crone laid her hand upon the Mother. Another woman, young and bright, stepped out 

of the trees and hugged the Mother and Crone. The Crone and Maiden laid the hands 

upon the Mother and the three became one as the Mother assumed the full power of the 

Goddess. Suddenly, brilliant sunshine light burst forth from her and the sky was alight 

with a burning glow that filled the world with warmth. As the light softened, the Lady 

was revealed to have a babe in her arms, and I awoke to strong streaming sunlight 

streaming in through my window. 

After, breakfast and my chores, I ran into the woods, to the place where the 

cedar lay. Nothing had changed in that physical place, but inside me there was an 

awakening bloom that something pure, true and wonderful was happening. 

That afternoon I returned home to find my mother taking out the decorations for 

the Yule tree. Yule,tThe Winter Solstice and rebirthing day of the God. We lit candles 

and baked a sun cake in celebration of the return of the God. 

That year, winter began to awaken the energy of the Goddess sleeping inside 

me. It brought me to a closer relationship with the God and opened my eyes to new 

wonders both around and within me. I’ve relived the joy of that first snowfall each year 

with the return of winter’s kiss.