A dusky Christmas Eve 1963 and Cornelius pounds his way through the snow of Ellis Lake, the hills rising to cover the failing light dropping shadows between the effervescent evergreens. A sliver of smoke rising from the distant cottage levels and cools providing a guide home. He knows his father will be angry, he should have been home earlier, but time has no meaning for a twelve year old when the adventures of winter abound.
Partly fearful of returning home and partly fearful of not the boy forgets the safety of shore and cuts out across the bay, the cottage's warm glow reflecting on the snow ahead. The travel is smoother nearer the centre of the bay, the wind like a worn out corn broom had cleared the snow exposing the jaggedy ice. The cottage is closer now, he can see bodies moving through the warmth, hear the sound of someone singing something Christmasy on the radio, even smell the warm wood as it slowly melts in the fireplace.
Then a sound splits the sky, a low crack from beneath the surface that echoes about the bay, bouncing off the granite walls and receding into the night. Cornelius freezes into rigidity, so does all sensation. Gone is the smell of the wood, the sound of the song, the bodies in the warmth. The great silence oppresses him as he strains to hear more, his gaze downwards, and then wide eyed and unblinking to the shore now an ocean away. Like a soldier in a mine field he takes a tentative step, then a second, on the third the ice weakens, a slight, quick drop, he begins to scream "Mom" but he's choked into silence by the icy water.
* * *Cornelius snaps open his eyes, wide and unblinking he sees ceiling paint white, then smells of medicinery women, sounds of metal into metal and electrical buzzing light. He rolls to his side, strangers in white look on silent and astonished. A tear rolls down his deeply grooved face, his voice hoarse and old meekly sounds, but the word is lost, choked by age and un-use and lost meaning; "Mom".