Letters from Nikolaevsk

Annitta

12-21-98 -- Quiet Night

Hi from Carol Channing's - quacker kind - home town

The quiet of tonight lays like a warm wool blanket over the hills cradling the village. Homes are alight. Some of the homes use oil lamps, their shadows chasing one another across hand sawed logs, a few have their wood stoves fired up, the sweet smell of wood laying lazily among the tall, snow-covered spruce trees.

Girls in long flowing dresses and winter boots walk a path through our yard to Gregg's and Teresa's house where a small birthday party is taking place. Moms in their head coverings and beautifully designed dresses gossip inside of the house in front of the patio doors. The movements of their silhouettes bring life to that old house. Gregg's ancient Siamese makes her way to our front door where the granson had put the garbage and once there the old queen regally sniffs for a morsal fit for royalty.

Carol Channing, taking advantage of no wind and falling snow, wanders over and makes for her makeshift bed in the corner of the shed. Santa left her some straw for her bed and cracked corn. With a sigh of contentment, Carol C. quacked her thanks and settled down for the night.

The ravens have all gone home and Alec sighs HIS sigh of relief. His compost pile much smaller and more spread out.

Night descends quickly on this winter solstice of the shortest day of the year, and the moose and her companion wander off towards Ivan's house. Pigeons descend to their nests at Ivan's to the sound of a low from the cow in the shed across the road.

It is a night of reflection. A time for family and friends to extend the hand of goodness and bless all who have make a difference in their life.

Bless,

annitta
from downtown magical Nikolaevsk