The Prayer

The wind howls through the eaves, making this the third night I can’t sleep. I turn over and look up at the ceiling, then at the window overlooking a frozen waterfall. Even though it is frozen, I can hear it whispering to me, ready for spring so it can roar again.

I sigh, wishing the storm would stop. This is the third week of snow and second day of wind.

Christmas was a week ago. It is now January first. I should be at my cousin’s house sipping tea and building igloos, but I’m stuck here with nothing to do but wait.

“Laun!” my mother calls, sharp and tired. “I won’t allow you to mope all day! It’s dawn, and Father needs you!” I sigh again, and lift the covers off my body and step onto the freezing-cold floor. In some places it is covered in frost. I quickly cross it and slip silently down the stairs.

The living room is dark, but there is a roaring fire in the fireplace. The power has gone out.

“Laun,” says a deep voice coming from a large armchair pulled close to the flames. “I have something to tell you.” I walk over to see my father gazing into the bright light of the embers. “I need you to pray tonight,” he continues, “with all your heart, for the end of this terrible weather. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Father,” I say and hurry off to get him some ginger tea, for these winds have taken a toll on him.

It is eleven o’clock. I pray as Father instructed. My eyes rest for just a moment. . . .

I wake up to a stillness, with no wind or cold. I take off my covers and step onto the floor. How warm the wood is! I race downstairs and I am pulled into an embrace by my parents.