Love, Light and Happiness

The streets were quiet as a lone kainu trotted through town, snow crunching under his white-socked hooves. Fat flakes floated down from the grey sky above, and though the kainu found the winter months to be rather dreary, he could appreciate snowy days for their unique beauty. His pads were frozen within a few blocks, but that was a small price to pay to go visit his mother for the holidays.

He looked around at the lights that stretched between and around lamp posts and trees alike, admiring their twinkling brilliance against a slate-gray backdrop. The snow reflected the light, casting dazzling displays of red and yellow and green across his path as he rounded a corner. He was reminded of happy days full of beautiful gold and red decorations, a tree that reminded him of deep forest camping trips in his childhood, wreaths that smelled of cinnamon and cloves and elderwood sap. He could almost smell his mother’s homemade cookies now, and in his excitement he lifted his knees a little higher like a drakling prancing proudly as his mother watched.  

The kainu slowed and turned his head to make sure the bouquet of flowers was still in his saddlebag where he’d left it, giving the sweet-smelling petals a sniff before he smiled and continued on. These flowers had come a long way, but where they were grown they were always in season, and Kumea—the mystic who owned the shop—provided the unique service of casting magic over the flowers to keep them fresh until they reached their destination and then some, for a small fee. Freesia and honeysuckle with baby’s breath dotted around. All of his mother’s favorites, she was going to love them.

He slowed as he reached his destination, craning his head back to look up at the sign over the gate. He gave himself a light shake before continuing inside, following the snowy path. No one else had been here that day, unless the snow had fallen so much it filled in the footprints they left behind.

“Hey Mama,” he said, smiling widely as he came to stand in front of the grey statue. It looked almost black in the dim evening light, and though he had no way to light the area, he hoped she would be able to see him anyway.

“I brought you your flowers,” he said, reaching to take the bouquet out of his bag. He brushed the snow away from the gravestone, setting them so they rested in the flower holder—a beautiful shock of color among a field of grey and white.

“Let’s get you all prettied up,” the drakiri said, pulling a soft-bristled brush out of his bag. “I was never no good at magic, n’you know that, Mama, but I’m gonna do my best here for you.” He stepped back, and with a faint glow around his horn and the handle of the brush, managed to clumsily sweep the snow away from the foot of the statue and the plaque beneath. The statue had been carved into his mother’s likeness, though it would never measure up to her beauty when she was alive.

“Miss Darla Geraldine,” he read as he stepped back to admire the grave. “Mother to Woodwind, and the best damn thing that ever happened to that sum’bitch, wherever he is.”

Woodwind lifted his gaze from the plaque to the statue, his smile still in place, though he felt a hint of sadness tug at the corners of his mouth. He said, “I sure do miss you, Mama. I know you’re out there somewhere, watchin’ over me and mine. Elsie’s still got the kids. They’re bigger than last time you saw them. They love to hear stories about you. They call you Meemaw. I know you’d’ve loved to see ‘em all grown up. You were so good with them, even when it was hard.”

He reached out to adjust the flowers just so, and even went so far as to pull one of the freesia out of the bouquet to tuck it behind the ear of the statue. For a fleeting moment, he could almost imagine that his mother was standing there, looking down at him from the pedestal with her usual warm smile, her bright eyes glowing with warmth as she looked down at her only child. He missed her dearly, and the holidays were always difficult without her, but he made a point not to isolate himself. That wasn’t what his mama would have wanted, she would have wanted him surrounded by love and light and happiness, and that was what he’d done. He had a beautiful family, and his daughter looked just like her meemaw.

“I love you, Mama,” he said, leaning up to press his nose against the cold stone cheek of the statue, closing his eyes for a moment before pulling away and kicking the frost away from his nose. “I’ll come back and visit you in springtime. Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure there are lots of flowers around for you to look at. I’ll bring the littluns so you can see how big they’ve gotten.”

He took a few steps back and gave a respectful bow of his head before turning and walking out of the cemetery, the cheerful bounce gone from his steps, but a warmth in his heart that had been missing when he arrived. He didn’t visit his mother to mourn her, he visited her to remind himself of her beauty and how much he loved her. These visits, the stories that he told to his children and the stories he would tell to their children when the time came all kept his mother’s memory alive. And through their memory, she would live too. He hoped that when his time came, his children would remember his mother as well and keep them both alive in stories for generations to come.

Woodwind trotted home and saw the lights on in the windows, his children bouncing excitedly around the living room with one gift that each of them were allowed to open the night before the big day. He smiled and opened the door, greeted by love and light and happiness.