Traded For Tender Amber Song

20251221

Written for Luna Asli Kolcu’s “Myths of Winter - Week 3” event.

The morn after solstice was always a source of both excitement and anxiety for me. Though I knew the spirits conducted their ‘trade’ with the best of intentions, my experience was that how they evaluated things could be entirely different to humans. Or at least me.
I knew it foolish to still hold this against them, but I’d loved those gloves dearly, despite them being threadbare, and even the beautiful nightlight crystal left in exchange hadn’t soothed my broken little heart. I’d given it away immediately. I can’t even remember who to.
Foolish indeed, but no matter how I tried, no matter how many years passed, it seemed I’ll never forget the pain of that morning. Ever since, I wake on Gifts Day braced, my stomach twanging with tension which wouldn’t abate until I knew what I had lost. And what gift I’d received.
On those years where I couldn’t figure out what the spirits had carried away with them I was a shaken wreck by evening. More foolishness, I know; if I didn’t even notice an absence why fret about it? Clearly whatever they’d taken had been unheeded clutter. But fears have small ears, and certainly don’t listen to reason.
I walk through the house. My gaze darting like a lizard across every surface.
Ah. This year the gift is easy to find; dangling from the handle of a kitchen cupboard is a wooden wind-catcher. I slip it free and gently rock it from one finger, the motions summoning tender amber murmurs. They massage my ears and through them my nerves. A little of the stress knotting my shoulders loosens as I listen.
Alright. A good present. Though that makes me wonder with greater unease what was taken.
Often the gift is left near where the “gift” for the spirits was selected. So I open the cupboard. My eyes seek out my favourite mug, but it sits in its usual place. I look across the rest of the cupboard… and, though it’s very hard to spot what isn’t there, I feel a… a lack of twang.
Oh.
I bite my lip.
Granted, I’d always… no, I didn’t hate that mug. I cherished it. But I cherished it in spite of it being a constant reminder of how my sister and I had never understood one another. I cherished it because that exchange was the last contact we had before she abruptly moved away, telling no-one where she was going. I cherished it because the thought of letting it go was too heavy.
And now it had been taken.
And I didn’t know how to feel.
The tight, conflicted knot in my throat cracked into uncontrollable giggles as my imagination conjured a picture of a winter spirit, clad in the elegant frost robes from my childhood picture books and blessed with unearthly beauty… drinking out of a tacky glow-in-the-dark “Hot Stuff” mug. I had to sit down for a moment to compose myself.
Alright. I… this felt like a clear message that I needed to let go. That I should stop clinging to pain. I doubtless had other mementos of my sister left. And even if not, the memories remained.
Which was the whole point of Gift Day, wasn’t it? Making us face the new year afresh. The spirits took something which they judged had run its course and left us a gift to carry into new beginnings.
I pick up the wind-chime again. I’ll hang it outside the kitchen window, so I can hear it whenever I’m cooking - and, when the weather is good, while I’m working too.
Then I’ll make coffee in my favourite mug and… contemplate the fresh start of the new year. Do this ‘properly’.
I wonder if sis is doing the same?
Perhaps this year I’ll try reaching out and see if I can find her. I think I’d feel better for at least trying. And I like to think she’d appreciate receiving a message, even if she chooses not to respond.
What would I say to her?
I put the kettle on and stare out the window, where the wind-chime dances in the brisk winter breeze. Just the lungful I got while hanging it was… Fresh. Sharp. Energising. Good weather for Gift Day.
I can’t think I’ll ever get as many encouraging omens as right now. Time to brainstorm and draft a letter. I’ll worry about how to try and get it to her later.
Though, foolish and childish though this is, I think I’ll throw the first copy into the wind and let the spirits guide it.

Prompt was “Every December, the spirits of winter leave small gifts for humans: strange things, useful things, things you didn’t know you needed. In return, they take something of equal value. Not stealing—trading. Usually. This year, they took something you really needed. But they left something better. You think.”