[Critique Group 2] Leonard's comments on Alice's sub

[tuchyner5 at aol.com]

There is a lot in this story that tickles my curiosity. 



There are hints of Christmas magic sprinkled throughout.  



Certainly of syncronicity. 



Maybe these two people did not meet merely by chance. 



Maybe the 3 people were a little more than people. 



You have captured the spirit of christmas.




 


 



The Christmas Poet:



 



A Wreatha Natale HolidayStory, #2



 



by Alice Jane-Marie Massa



 



 



Spanningten city blocks and maintaining its status as the third largest rail terminalin the United States, Chicago's Union Stationwas a whirlwind of noise and activity on December 17.  Sitting quietly inthe midst of the hubbub were retired teacher Wreatha Natale and her guide dogWiggles.  Douglas Fir--the man, not the tree--was kind to have taken thetime to accompany her to this waiting area.  "One half hour, and wewill be back on the train," she whispered to her Black Lab/GoldenRetriever.  Wiggles seemed eager for the short train ride home to Milwaukee.  



 



           As Wreatha took out a braille volume from her backpack, she realized that theman sitting next to her arose and walked away.  Within a few seconds,someone else--much smaller--quickly occupied the empty spot.  The sweetand gentle voice promptly began:  "I hope you don't mind my joiningyou and your guide dog.  I have been watching the two of you, and I wantto give you something."  When the rapid delivery of words stopped,Wreatha felt something atop her hands:  a piece of paper had been rolledup and tied with a thin satin ribbon.  



 



           "Since you recognized my guide dog, you must understand that I do not readprint:  I read braille," Ms. Natale explained.



 



           "Oh, yes, but do you have a computer that converts print into speech orbraille?"



 



           "As a matter of fact, I do."



 



           "Good.  Then, you can read my gift to you--a Christmas poem--when youarrive home.  Each holiday season, I write Christmas poems and give themas gifts here at Union Station and other places.  I want you to have thisone.  You will read it when you arrive home, won't you?"



 "Yes, dear, I promise I will read yourpoem.  Thank you so much.  I love poetry.Are you a student?"



 



           "No, my voice sounds a bit younger than I am.  I am twenty.  MayI help you to your train when it arrives?"



 



           "Do you work at Union Station?"  Of course, the young woman'sanswer was negative:  



Why do you say, ‘of course?’




 


shejust wanted to help Ms. Natale and her Leader Dog.  Conversing withsomeone would pass the time more quickly for both individuals, but Wreathadetermined that her new friend was not awaiting a train or any person. The young lady was merely at Union Station to give her poems to reluctantrecipients, most of whom were not as fond of poetry as was her currentrecipient.  



 



           Since the young woman could not be urged to read aloud the poem to WreathaNatale, due to the inappropriate atmosphere:  reading the poem in a housewith a Christmas tree was mandatory.  Waiting to read the verses would,indeed, heighten the anticipation and wonder--Christmas wonder.



 



           As the minutes of conversations lengthened, Ms.  Natale did introduceherself and Wiggles; however, the young poet was respectful and knew not todisturb a guide dog in harness.  Then, the poet shared that she had knowna fellow high school student who was blind.  Eventually, she revealed thatshe had been in a foster home until she turned eighteen.



 



           "I appreciated my foster parents; they were well-meaning people, but Inever grew to love them.  I had contentment, safety, lodging, but not ahome.  For a long while, I knew I would leave when I turned eighteen; andI knew that they would not dissuade me.  They did not even try.  Fortwo years, I have been trying to move on, make something of my life."



 



           Finally, Wreatha had to ask the young girl her name.  Her meager responsewas:  "I am The Christmas Poet."  Despite a little proddingfor a more conventional name--at least a first name--none was mentioned.



 



           "I have no idea who my parents are, what color they were.  I do notknow if they By this I surmise thatthe poet  had a complexion that did notclearly identify her race. were together when I was born, nor if theyliked 



poetry. I know nothing about them.  I do not know who gave me my earlier name, sonow I just go by the moniker 'The Christmas Poet' no matter what the season ofthe year is because I keep Christmas in my heart all through the year. Christmas is such a family time, warm and loving time:  I try to hold ontoit all through the twelve months of the year.  I believe that throughChristmas, I will find my way in life."



I wonder if the Christmas Poet ishomeless.



 



           Ms. Natale prided herself in being able to detect people her were notgenuine:  this young woman exuded only a delicate, fragile honesty. What would Douglas think of this youngpoet?  



 



           Checking her raised-dot watch, Ms. Natale said:  "My train should behere any minute.  I will return here for an appointment with Mr. Fir onDecember 23.  I should arrive at 10:25 that morning.  Can you meet mehere?  I would like for you to come with me to meet my ... friend, Mr.Fir.  We are going to lunch--my favorite, high tea.  I want you tojoin us.  Will you?"



So we have a Douglas Firr,  and a poet who acts a little bit like one ofDicken’s Chrismas Spirits. 



 



           For a long minute, The Christmas Poet said nothing.  At last, shesmiled:  "I will be here at ten o'clock on December 23:  I liketo be early."



That’s 2 days early for Christmas.  Only one day early for Christmas Eve.



 



           Ms. Natale reached for her backpack and put the braille volume inside; then,she pulled out a copy of her print manuscript.  Handing the red folder toThe Christmas Poet, Ms. Natale told her new friend:  "Here is mylittle gift for you.  Please read it before you meet me on the 23rd."



That’s a lot of trust to be given to aperson she just met.  A hope she had acopy of her  manuscript.



 



           The Christmas Poet was already silently reading the title page, but had torepeat the words aloud:  "The Christmas Poet:  A wreath ofHoliday Verses, by Wreatha Natale."



Graat, great ending.  This piece would be a great way to introduce abook of the same name. 



 



numberof words:  962



November12, 2019, Tuesday



 



 Lookingforward to our gathering on the 21st!



Alice and Willow




 



 


 



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