A Short Winter Day

By Ariana Hagen

There is beauty all around me—it is breathtaking, heart rending. I have opened my eyes to a world of color, of laughter and dancing. I have taken breath and smelled bonfires and fresh snow. Children sing and dance through the Polish village while maidens adorn the trees with hollowed eggs and ribbons. Gentle snowflakes drift down as men drink mead and stoke the flames licking the pine wood effigies.

I can’t help but smile at the life around me.

It doesn’t matter that the skies are dark and grey, or that the sun sleeps most of the hours. It doesn’t matter that the cold is bitter and sharp, or that food is dry and bland during this time of year. The people still celebrate. It is a time of renewal and of overcoming the darkness of life.

Every year I feel blessed to be a part of it.

“She’s here!” a little girl cries. She runs up to me and tugs my hand, jumping up and down with joy. More children gather, and soon, the adults follow suit. They look me over from head to toe and nod approvingly.

I look down to see that they have dressed me in beautiful cloth of white and sky blue. Bells and ribbons adorn my hair. I run my fingers across the fabric of the dress and giggle.

“She’s awakened! The effigy has been accepted!” The leader cries, raising his arms high to rally the villagers. Cheers fill my ears like bird song. I can’t help but feel warm and pleased with the reception.

“Do you like the decorations?” a little boy asks me, pointing to a copse of young trees across the gathering area. A trail leads through it, and beautiful streamers and dried flower petals carpet the ground.

I nod at him, crouching to his level. He is a strong, youthful boy, full of health and life. Pride wells in my chest, knowing that the year has been good to the villagers.

The boy’s mother trots over and quickly pulls him back.

“Don’t talk to her too much,” she warns. “She will only be here a short while; it is best to not become too friendly.”

There is a sadness in the woman’s voice, as if she has learned that particular lesson herself. I cock my head thoughtfully, digging through my memories of past years. There, in the hazy back of my mind, is an image of a shy young girl who danced with me one winter night, two decades ago, finding a brief friendship in my quiet presence. She sang to me and told me stories as night fell. The memory shifts to the girl, standing over me and crying as water covers my face.

Ah, I understand. I reach out to touch the woman, to reassure her, but she turns away with her son, leading him into the crowd.

Soon I am surrounded by young women who fawn over my hair and apply dye to my lips. They smile and laugh. Their joy is infectious. I find myself grinning as well. Once I am prepared, they gently take my hands and walk me through the crowd.

Boisterous children toss dried petals as I walk. Men take turns feeding me bits of honey and sips of mead.

Tears fill my eyes. Not tears of sorrow, but tears of love and hope. There is so much goodness around me and it is all so overwhelmingly beautiful, it nearly brings me to my knees.

The sun begins to set and darkness gathers around us like a cloak. Tonight is the longest night of the year. Death gathers at the edges of the world, waiting to take whomever it can find. But the villagers don’t fear it. They celebrate, sing, and dance. They defy death and welcome life back into the world. Tomorrow, the days will begin to grow longer again, and all will be well.

“It is time!” the leader announces.

I clap and reach out to those around me. I wonder who will have the honors this year.

The woman with the son bows her head, unable to meet my eyes, but I can see the tears gathering on her cheeks.

The girl from earlier who greeted me as I woke steps forward, smiling up at me as she does. Soon others are stepping forward until a small group surrounds me.

Together we begin to walk to the river, following the decorated path through the copse. Folks sing as we march. I close my eyes and bask in the sounds. Warm hands guide me, never letting me stray from the path.

Soon, we reach the river. The blackness of the night is reflected in the abyss of the water’s depths. Lantern light dances off the surface like fae globes.

“Tonight, we celebrate the death of the old year. The goddess of Winter and Rebirth herself has joined us! She has blessed us with her arrival, and with her sacrifice we will secure the coming of the new year. As we sacrifice Winter, she in turn promises the coming of her little sister, Spring, and a year of blessings for us all.”

My smile reaches ear to ear. Love for the people around me warms my frozen limbs. The people take my hands and lead me to the icy river. Slowly they lower me in, the bells in my hair jingling as I lean back.

The little girl from earlier kisses my cheek.

“I will see you next year,” she whispers.

Water begins to cover my face. I hardly feel the cold. My death is not quick, but I do not fight it. This is my gift for those whom I love, as it has been for centuries. Blackness takes me, but I can still hear the cheering.

“Marzanna! Marzanna! Marzanna!” the villagers praise.

Death comes with the last chanting of my name.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ariana Hagen lives on a small farm in Texas with her beloved animals, wild children, and patient spouse. Since she was a child, she has spent her time imagining fantastical worlds, universe-spanning sci-fi adventures, and stories of tragic loves. Ariana has only recently started sharing her stories with the world, though it has been a life-long dream of hers. She has so far been published with Tishomingo Arts Council and is self-publishing a novel.

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