Judgement

It is a relentlessly cold February morning, temperatures well below freezing. Silence breaks as each step is strategically placed with a resounding crunch echoing across the frozen pond. All else remains quiet with nary an animal in sight. Even the birds have not dared to venture forth so early. Greta thinks she must be mad, crossing the ice in such conditions. She has no no other choice, however, save allowing a life’s demise.

The pond’s been frozen solid for more than a month, making Greta’s weekly trek a bit easier while also shorter. She knows she shouldn’t chance it, but considering all that's to be accomplished in a given day, taking the shorter route has been worth the risk.

Greta glances up, watching illustrious clouds drift across dark skies. Delicate snowflakes are beginning to fall in rapid succession. She’s struck by the contrast betwixt intricately laced snowflakes and despairing, shadowed skies. The dismal thought lurches to the pit of her stomach as though a foreboding of things to come. Despite wearing boots and heavy layers, Greta shivers. Will the darkness of winter ever give way to spring? She will gleefully dance when she witnesses a blossom of new life. This winter's been a long one and spring cannot come soon enough.

She spies Grandma Agatha’s house in the distance, just before the heavy coppice of trees. The trees' branches, along with the house’s roof, are already laden with snowfall. Greta sighs with relief as spirals of smoke escape the chimney. Thankfully, Grandma Agatha won’t freeze for there is an abundance of logs to burn within easy reach.

Today, Greta’s basket carries loaves of freshly baked bread, red apples, tart cheese, as well as carrots and cabbage from the winter garden. Greta has made the same treacherous trip each week since mid-fall to ensure Grandma Agatha lacks for nothing. She can’t risk the old woman starving, especially when she has no other willing to offer assistance. The old woman lived a promiscuous life – certainly not up to the villager’s standards - so in older years, she is paying steeply. Greta’s conscience, however, dictates she help the woman for judgement is God’s alone to make.

Reaching the center of the pond, a noise resounds in the eerie silence. Panicked, adrenalin pumping, Greta begins to run, slipping and falling less than ten feet away. Spread eagle, she watches as an apple rolls across the ice, its redness resembling blood against the whiteness of the newly fallen snow.

The crack expands; cold-water invades. Greta bobs in the frigid water, gasping and struggling for only a moment before acceptance registers. No one hears save the birds, their wings flapping against air. The sound fills Greta’s ears.

Calming numbness floods. Hands, fingers already frozen, slide across the ice. The irony strikes hard and swift and confusion mounts as warmth infuses and peace encompasses. Has spring arrived?

A single leaf falls on the snow. A whisper of a selfless prayer.

“Please don’t let Grandma Agatha starve.”