There was a magic feel to the air. The birds had long gone to bed. The full moon gave an enchanted, magical feeling of transparency. It was icy cold. A thin grey carpet of snow lay on the ground. That Christmas Eve my family and I lived near Leamington allotments. The wolf was circling around my brother’s apple tree. He came every night, looking for something, anything to eat.
All three of us had our own tree. I, being the oldest was the first to be planted. Those yellow plums, heaven in one bite, matched my gentle nature. The cherry was last in the ground. Only one year do, I remember it having any fruit? At harvest time, we had a feast; something so rare. David had the apple tree, hard on the outside, until you took a bite.
The wolf was still visible. My mum looked glum, “I tried everything, cat food, I haven’t got anything else.” She wouldn’t have, we where vegetarians. “I even went to the butchers to buy some meat but he wouldn’t go near it. I was afraid to leave it unattended in case the foxes took it. The poor thing must be starving!” My mother could never leave an animal to die alone. “Maybe you’ll have more luck.”
Painstakingly, I watched my two brothers try to win the wolf over. David held a bowl of cat food and a sausage out for the animal. Settled down on the frozen earth, a statue could not have stayed so still and waited. My feet turned to ice before the wolf, despite the blanket mum had tucked around my legs.
Slowly the wolf began to edge toward the food, warily, not sure whether it was a trap. Still David sat completely still. We watched as he and the wolf eyes locked.
annaharperarts 