Parchment in the snow
Written by Frost Ella, Keeper of Winter Tales
This week’s tale includes:
Parchment In The Snow: The Stillness of Winter
The Frosted Kitchen: Spiced Eggnog
The Frozen Chest: The Comforting Cloak
Tales Of Time: The Crane and her Silk
Winters Home: The Joy of Dancing
Crafted Delight: The Special Moments
Warm Regards: Welcome Home
Parchment in the Snow
The Stillness of Winter
Dear friends,
The snow has been falling since morning, the quiet kind that settles without asking anything of the world. I stepped beyond the hall just after dawn.
The Reindeer were already there, moving slowly through the glades. Their coats dusted with white, powdered snow as their breath lifted into small clouds.
They can always sense when I come near. Turning their heads to gaze upon me.
Their warmth is surprising in winter, steady and real. As they move about, the forrest seems to breathe easier for having known them.
Winter moves like this here. Nothing hurried. Nothing wasted.
Tracks appear, linger for awhile, then soften back into smooth mounds of snow. I find comfort in that. It reminds me that not everything must be held onto to be meaningful.
As the light shifted, the woods caught a faint glow; not bright, just enough to notice if you were already paying attention. I stood there longer than planned, listening, letting the cold turn sweet in my lungs. Some days, that is all the magic required.
If you are reading this from somewhere warmer or perhaps louder, I hope you can feel it too. The calm the season brings, asking us to tend what is near, so we can move forward with care.
The Frosted Kitchen
Spiced Eggnog
This time of year I often find myself lingering in the kitchen.
It is here, in the stillness that I return to my favorite drink of the season. Spiced Eggnog.
As it warms on the stove, the scent fills the room like a memory unfolding. Nutmeg and cream, a sweetness that feels earned after the long walk home through the snow. I imagine the reindeer settiling into their rest, bells quiet now, breath slow.
The fire hums slow as if keeping watch over us, keeping us safe and warm.
I sip slowly.
This is not a drink that is meant to be rushed.
It asks for both hands wrapped around the mug, for a pause between breaths. With each taste, my shoulders soften. The cold loosens its grip. I think of the small comforts that carry us through the darkest days. Warmth shared, light held close, the simple joy of being cared for in quiet ways.
The Frozen Chest
The Comforting Cloak
There are certain things I would not part with this time of year, no matter how gently I am asked. My cloak is one of them. It settles over my shoulders like a promise, familiar and warm. It follows me as I walk, billowing softly behind me as if it knows the way. When the snow falls, it feels as though each flake has come to remind me how precious it is to be here; living within such a tender, beautiful world.
I tuck two carrots into my pockets before I go, careful not to forget. I make my way to the stables to greet Harry and Lenn. Even before I enter, I can hear them shifting, waiting. The warmth inside wraps around me, carrying the sweet, earthy scent of hay. Their eyes brighten when they see me, noses nudging at my cloak, already hopeful for what may come.
Harry bows his head for me, as he always does. I smooth his hair and pull him into a gentle hug, laughing softly as he leans into it. Just then, a small mouse darts across the stable floor, catching my attention. For a moment, he stops and looks up at us. I swear I see a smile before he dissapears again into the shadows. I wonder where he is going, what small corner he has chosen to keep warm.
However, when I reach for the carrots, I realize my pocket is now empty. I pause, confused, then notice Lenn nearby; cheeks far too full, eyes far too pleased. It does not take long for the truth to reveal itself to me. I approach him with a knowing look and he drops the extra carrot from his mouth.
I thank him all the same, brush his mane and offer the treat to Harry, who accepts it with delight.
As I turn away, Lenn brings a mouthful of hay to pad Harrys stall, just a little bit more.
A quiet apology, offered in his own way.
We laugh together. My heart feels full. So deeply loved by these gentle beings. I carry that warmth with me as I step back into the cold.
Tales of Time
The Crane and her Silk
There is an old winter story I carry with me, one I return to when the snow feels heavy and the nights grow long.
It tells of a man walking home through the cold who noticed a crane who was caught fast in a hunters snare. The bird trembled, feathers dusted with snow, wings pulled tight in fear. He did not stop to wonder what he may gain by helping her. He simply knelt, loosened the trap and watched as she lifted herself into the gray winter sky.
That evening, as the wind pressed against his door, a young woman appeared asking for shelter. He welcomed her in without question. They shared warmth, quiet conversation and the comfort of being indoors while winter worked its way across the land.
In time, she offered to weave cloth for him. Silk so fine it gleamed like frost beneath the moonlight. She asked only one thing in return: that he never watch her while she worked.
And for awhile, he honored this.
But winter teaches us many things and one of them is how curiosity can ache when the days are long. And so, one night, he looked. And there, at the loom, was the crane; gently pulling feathers from her own body to create the cloth he had admired.
When she saw that she had been discovered, she spoke softly. She was the crane that he had freed. This was her way of returning the kindess she had been given. But now that she had been seen, she could no longer remain.
She took flight once more, disappearing into the snow filled sky.
I think of this story often. How kindess was offered without expectation, creating its own quiet magic and the importance of respecting the privacy of those who ask. It shows me how care is not meant to bind or posses, but to be freely given; knowing it may one day move on, changed, but still carrying the warmth with it.
Winter remembers such things. And so do I.
Ellas retelling of Tsuru Ongaeshi 1336-1573
Winters Home
The Joy of Dancing
A small ornate music player rests on a golden shelf in my room, a gift from my Grandmother long ago. When I open it, the room softens, the music drifting through the air like falling snow.
I practice dancing as it plays, preparing for the winter ball soon to come. At first, my steps feel unsure. When I think too much, my body stiffens, forgetting what it already knows.
I look at my reflection, then close my eyes and listen.
The melody finds its way to me. My breath steadies. My feet remember. Without effort, rthym returns and I am carried by the music once more.
A sound outside draws me to the window, a carriage arriving through the snow. My brother Peter has come.
I close the music box and hurry downstairs, heart light, knowing the house is about to fill with warmth.
If you wish to listen to the music of winters beauty, you may find it here.
May it take you somewhere soft and special.
Crafted Delight
The Special Moments
When my family’s arrival drew near, I handmade pieces of parchment and sent them out into the snowfall, each delivered by messenger’s hand. As I wrote, I thought carefully of the memories I held with each of them, letting those moments guide my words.
For my oldest brother, Peter I remembered learning how to build a towering cake for Little Red, icing covering our hands. For my mother, it was sitting quietly in Fair Rose’s garden as the flowers bloomed around us. With my father, I recalled stargazing beneath the night sky during Lady Pearls celebration.
Each parchment carried a piece of love, folded gently into its lines, proof that making something by hand allows memory to travel, even through winter air.
Learn how to create beautiful parchments here.
Warm Regards
Welcome Home
As the snow settles and the halls grow quiet, we leave you with this:
Magic does not ask to be found.
It waits patiently in small moments:
In warm hands, in remembered laughter, in music carried softly through the room.
May you move gently through the season.
May you rest when the world asks you to hurry.
May you notice the beauty that lingers, just beyond the edge of knowing.
Welcome home,
Frost Ella
