A Winter wonderland

Journal entry of Mark Robertson

It occurs to me that in writing for yourself, and not for anyone else, you tend to cut details out or even omit events altogether. For example, looking back, I didn't mention the time a pony went into hysterics on the high street, accusing me of eating her foal. (As it happened the little toe-rag had wandered off into a toy shop). And I played down how much legal waffle I had to wade through when purchasing my shop.

Having made that observation, I'm going to try and be as accurate as I can from now on, because while I may remember all the details now, that might not always be the case. And who knows, maybe I'll be like a latter day Pepys, remembered for my journal? In either case, it will pay to write as many details as possible.

After I got the reply from Celestia, I worked up the courage to write to Winter (as I have taken to calling her) suggesting we catch up. Happily she accepted. We went to our usual place, a pleasant little café that did fair to middling tea, but excellent cakes.

I started the conversation on a light topic – is what I'd like to say.
Instead, I asked 'So, how are things at the weather factory?' Smooth, talk work while on a date. I berated myself mentally.
Luckily she didn't mind. On the contrary, her face fairly brightened.'We've just finalised the snowfall schedule for this winter, and my manager agreed to try some of my new designs! They're pretty novel, but I think they'll work out really well.'
'Oh, well congratulations then. I really love winter, and your snowflakes last year were excellent.' I replied.
'Thanks! I worked hard on them.' she replied in a somewhat embarrassed tone.
There then passed a slight pause, with neither of us sure of what to say. It was her that spoke first.
'What about you? How is your work?' she enquired, face alight with genuine interest.

'I can't complain, I do a steady trade in the pre-made items, and the number of commissions is getting up there.' I told her, glad to be talking with someone who appreciated my craft.
'That's excellent news! Really excellent news! I'm so glad you're doing so well!' My heart swelled from her honest display of support that I scarcely had the wherewithal to hide my emotion, but somehow I maintained my composure and simply responded with a 'Thank you, this is why I love spending time with you.'

'Me too, we get along so well with each other. I wish we could see more of each other – see each other more often I mean.' she said, hastily rephrasing herself.
'Actually...' I said slowly, not sure of how to proceed. 'Yes Mark?' she asked, clearly anticipating what I was about to say.
'I was just wondering, would you like to run with me during the running of the leaves? If you're not busy that is, I don't know if you can take the time off.'

'That would be wonderful! I've been hoping for some time off, and taking part in the running of the leaves sounds great. Gosh, I haven't done it in so long!' she replied, clopping her hooves together excitedly.
'I've never done it at all. This will be my first, and I'm glad I'll have you with me.'
'Well then, it's a date!' she answered.

With that settled, we fell back on small talk for the next hour or so before parting, not to see each other before meeting at the starting line, a week from then. When the day came I awoke at about six O'clock and prepared myself as best I could. I had a bowl of muesli with sliced banana for breakfast, and eschewed my usual morning cup of tea for a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Finally, I got dressed into my running outfit, musing as I did so on the incongruity of there being so many tailors in a world where they went naked more often than not. I also regretted that I myself could not, or would not go about as ponies did. Whether from physical inability (fur must keep them rather warm in bad weather) or from cultural or religious feeling, I just couldn't do it. If I could, the expense in getting clothes would be done away with altogether. After making sure that the doors & windows to what was both my shop and home were secured, I head to the train station. (A holdover from a lifetime on Earth, as robberies were far less common, indeed many left their homes unlocked).

A short train ride later, and I was stepping onto the platform at Ponyville, where I was pleasantly surprised to see Winter had already arrived.
'Hey!! Glad to see you finally made it!' she called to me.
Once I drew nearer, I saw that she had decided to wear clothing too – and what clothing!
'Winter, what are you wearing!?' I asked, incredulously.
'Fitness gear. Why, what's wrong with it?' she replied defensively.
'It's just so... bright.' I answered, choking back laughter.
She was wearing bright orange shorts, a black waistband and a tiger print tank-top. All in vivid fluro.

'Shut up, all right! They're my mum's! I had to borrow them, because I didn't have any of my own.' she shot back, blushing.
'Why not go without? I mean you don't usually wear clothes anyway.'
'Because it's cold!' was the rather unconvincing reply.
I considering raising the fact that she made snowflakes for a living, and that even a crisp autumn day like today couldn't possibly make her feel cold, but I decided to let the matter drop.

'So, are you ready to shake some leaves off the tress?' I asked, as we set off for the starting line.
'Absolutely! I always loved this time of year, because it meant that we had winter to look forward to.'
'I love winter too, always more fun than summer! Cosy nights in front of an open fire, leisurely walks along snow covered country lanes. I really hope winter is good this year!' I said, getting lost in memories of happy winters on earth.
'I'm good every year!' Winter replied, half laughing at her own wit.
'I don't know if I'll ever get used to pony names. I mean, what if you ended up liking summer, but your name was still “Winter Wonder”? You have to admit, it would be strange.'
'Huh, I think there's some kind of magic involved. Besides, we usually wait a few days before choosing a name. How do Humans name their kids?'

'It depends on culture, but most names mean something and are often reflective of an aspiration for the child, or what their parents think of them. You know like “beautiful” for a girl or “manly” if it's a boy.'
'And what about your name, what does “Mark” mean?'
“Ah, well, for me it's a case of a name that doesn't fit. Mark is often said to mean "consecrated to the god Mars". Mars was a God worshipped by people called Romans, and he was a war God. Not the best name for a guy who hates fighting, and makes a living from fancy writing.' I said lamely
'So why did your parents give you that name then?' Winter asked, utterly perplexed
'There is another reason why children get the names they do, and that's because of family tradition. In my case, my grandfather, and great-great grandfather were named Mark too. And they got it from a book in our religion's scripture.'

At that point, our conversation ended, because we had reached the marshalling area, where we had to register to compete. The race itself was fairly simple, just a few miles along a preset course, through a forest. Winter and I took it rather easy, both because we knew we had no chance of being in the first across the finish line and also because of how picturesque the scenery was. The amazing reds, oranges and browns of all the leaves and the way they crunched when stepped on were wondrous, magical even. But I think the real magic was having her next to me, as we made no effort to avoid piles of leaves, but actually aiming for them so we could kick our way through them to enjoy the resulting explosion of colour and laughing with pure joy.

In the end, we came in close to last, but we didn't care, we had the most fun either of us had had in a long time. By the time it came to say goodbye at the Canterlot train station, it was becoming increasingly obvious to me that Winter was working herself up to do or say something. My own preparations were probably as obvious to her. It all depended on who would gather their courage first.
'Winter, I just want you to know I had a really great time with you today. And well, I really do enjoy spending time with you.' Why is it so much harder to look her in the eye? I thought.
'We share similar outlooks, even though we come from different worlds. Basically, what I'm trying to say, is that I love you, and that I hope that maybe you feel the same way.' I said, my heart hammering, and my throat tightening.

To my great surprise, she responded by flying to head height, and kissing me with such forcefulness that I was nearly bowled over. She wrapped her forelegs around me, and I, lost in passion, did the same with my arms. She was so warm, and her lips and mouth so soft as I cannot even begin to describe. I'd like to say that fireworks were going off in my head, that time seemed to slow, but all in all, it was just a few very emotionally charged moments in which we both revelled in the nearness of the other, and the crossing of a threshold. From now on we both knew we could never go back, the way was shut.

Eventually, we parted, and we looked at each other awkwardly, hardly knowing what to say or do. The matter was decided for us by the arrival of a guard, telling us that we had to leave because the station was closing for the night. We promised to see more of each other soon, and we then both went our separate ways.