Winter's Day

Authors Note: The task at hand was to choose a picture that relates to you, write a short story on how it relates to you, and then draw another picture that is similar to both the museum's painting and your writing piece.  

The sculpture I related to is Edge of England by Cornelia Parker.  It somehow reminded me of a snowstorm, the massive rock fragments replacing the tiny snowflakes.  Also, this story is not true and has never happened, though it is very likely that it could.

In this writing piece, I am trying to improve my vocabulary and use figurative language.


Edge of England 
by Cornelia Parker                                                                                                  

Edge of England, 1999

Chalk, wire, and wire mesh

Cornelia Parker excavates the layers of meaning in the unusual objects and uncommon processes that inform her art.  

For Edge of England, the artist collected chalk fragments from a major rock fall at the Beachy Head section of the Dover cliffs, located on the southeastern edge of England.  She suspended the chalk from thin wires to form a curtain wall that reinterprets what nature had destroyed. 

The Dover cliffs have a special significance and their associations are rich.  During World War II, the last views British soldiers had of their country were of the white cliffs. 

As such this sculpture is a symbol of a nation as well as a medication on the human condition.  Parker has states, "I like to resurrect things that have a kind of violent history.  I enjoy creating a frozen moment, a quiet thing, out of a violent occasion."

(This information is on display in the museum.)

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Winter's Day
By: Hannah Antczak

Winter's Day, 2012

“Come on sis!” Henry called while running through the rows and rows of evergreens.

It was that time of year.  Hot cocoa with gooey marshmallows, blankets of sparkling snow, freshly baked cookies with chocolate chips oozing out, and warm fires blazing and cracking in the fireplace.  Winter.

It was a family tradition to get a real tree every year.  Today was a perfect winter day: not too cold, and the soft snow was sprinkled on the ground.  So that morning we piled the family into my mom’s van and drove off to look for a tree.   

I smiled, my cheeks red as roses and my nose a cherry.  I sprinted through the heavy snow, my boots making holes as deep as the Grand Canyon.  

“Ahh!” Henry screamed as I chase him, my frostbitten fingers reaching out to grab his jacket.

“I’ve got you!” I declared as I grab his scarf.  My fingers slowly crawl toward his stomach.

Henry’s eyes widened.  “Please don’t Hannah,” he croaked.  

But it was too late.  My fingers had already reached his stomach and I began to tickle him.

“Stop Hannah!” he laughed, his little arms flailing around.  

A few feet away, I can hear my parents arguing about what Christmas tree we should get.

Henry somehow escaped my tight grasp and runs to where my parents are standing.  

“I like this tree Mama,” he said sweetly.  He turns to my dad and glares.  “This is the one,” he demands, with tilted eyebrows and slightly shut eyes.     

“Mom!” my sister shouts, somewhere in the distance.  “Come here!”  

We follow the noise, turning right and left, her voice getting louder and softer. 
After a few minutes of searching, I found her in the way back, surrounded by giant branches of green and brown.
“Found her,” I panted, out of breath.

My dad, mom and brother soon came sprinting, also out of breath.

“What are you doing over here Hailey?” my dad asked, a tad of anger in his tone.

Hailey was standing by a huge tree, big majestic branches spaced evenly apart.  

This was the one.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I helped my parents lug the tree on top of the van, while Hailey and Henry were bursting with joy and shouting Jingle Bells.  When the tree was fully tied to the vehicle with twine, I hopped into the car and joined my siblings obnoxious singing.

The whole car ride was filled with yelling, screaming, and the occasional “be quiet!” from my parents.  Soon I became sick of singing, and I found myself gazing out the window.  Everything looked so beautiful.  There were carolers going door to door, spreading their hearty Christmas spirit.  Young children, all bundled up, struggled to roll the balls of snow for their lopsided snowman’s head.

In what seemed like a second, we were pulling into our icy driveway, Hailey and Henry now chanting Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

I hopped out of the van, ready to help my parents untie the tree.  Hailey and Henry followed close behind, but instead they went into the backyard and hurled snowballs at each other.

I dug my fingers into the twine, attempting to get all the knots out.  As soon as the last knot was untied, little snowflakes started falling from the dreary sky.  Henry started spinning, trying to catch one on his tongue.

My mom laughed, and I couldn’t help but laugh with her.  He looked so cute spinning around in his thick puffy jacket and wool hat.

But soon the snowflakes were getting bigger and bigger, and were falling harder and harder.  Hailey quickly dashed for the garage door, but Henry was still twirling in the snow.  My dad went and picked him up, slung him over his shoulder, and carried him inside.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

I huddled in front of the warm fire, a blanket around me like a cocoon.  Hailey and Henry to my left.  

“Hot chocolate all around!” my mom announced, walking into the TV room from the kitchen.  

She was carrying a tray: five steaming cups and large bag of of mini marshmallows neatly placed on it

“Yay!” Henry exclaimed while clapping.  

My dad was behind my mom, holding a plate filled with chocolate chip cookies right from the oven.  

I chose the Santa mug, grabbed a handful of the mini marshmallows, and dumped them in my cup, landing with a satisfying plop.  I reached for the cookies as well, the soft, delicious batter and creamy chocolate chips were melting in my mouth.  I swaddled back into my blanket, and sipped from my mug.

Freshly fallen snow was on the ground outside, and I was drinking hot cocoa in front of the fire. The scent of pine needles and cookies filled the air, and the tree sparkled in the living room. Nothing could be better on a cold winter’s day.  At least to me it couldn't.