Tomasio, the boy who died

Sometimes, lessons come in pairs, unannounced. This is about a boy who essentially died, but keep reading, it gets better, after it gets worse.

New January snow hangs onto the Oregon dawn, temperature very low. Only the full stillness of the morning prevails with a strict and crisp chill. The high ridge of old pines across from the family home, stark white, stare back at Tomasio on his porch. 

With backpack and pole, he sets out to  his favorite creek, two miles north and midway up Gresham Mountain. The night had seen very steady snow, not heavy but persistent, there's more everywhere than usual which makes the journey precarious at a few points. 

But Tomasio plows on, head down, determined to reach his spot before much of the earliest morning is lost. Tomasio has had his best luck around dawn; he often wondered the reason.

Trudging forward, a mile away from home now, the ascent elevated, Tomasio was breathing harder, but keeping an easy stride, he focused on his boots, left then right, then again, each step- and the brisk silence all around- almost lulls him into a walking trance, unaware of anything beyond direction, pace, little else; prerequisites for the first moment, as lessons come unlabeled, in an instant.

As Tomasio slopes up a winding path and around a curve along the mountain's steep incline, a sudden thunderous crashing overhead freezes his movement. Looking up, he sees an entire loosened ledge of snow fall directly atop him. Momentarily knocked out from the heavy blow, Tomasio opens his eyes, goes to hold his aching head, but, he can't--  he's pinned on the side, nearly to his neck. 

Too late now for lessons to ponder, he knows he's in real trouble. Unable to move any limb beyond a slight wiggle. Tomasio begins to panic as the deep cold seems to reach his bones; he feels numb now as every minute passes like a creeping hour. Slightly tired, his mind swirling in circles, Tomasio knows yelling would be pointless, too far from everything. 

Looking up, he sees a small patch of blue against the dark gray sky; he begins to think of home, his mom, his dad away on a week of loggin- would Tomasio ever see them or his home again, he wonders, feeling a deep sadness sinking in, nothing making sense, he cannot focus his thoughts anymore. He can't die at twelve, this cannot be happening to him, he thought, as his drowsiness intensified, his eyes closed, the rumbling of more storm streams over his waning awareness, everything slipping away.  

His mind drifting off into some faraway snow kingdom, he spots an old owl on a frosted limb- it's precisely at this critical moment that Tomasio learns a second lesson. In a horrific instant of blast and roar, a big bolt of lightning strikes the cluster of pines only four short yards away. 

Tomasio is at first stunned deaf by the single charge, blinded by the flash, but his eyes quickly refocus to the sight of pines busting into raging flame, so close that his neck and shoulder are slightly singed, but he feels no pain. Then, an extraordinary thing happens. Tomasio, pinned to the chest, watches with utter amazement as the raging heat from the blaze up the slope begins melting the snow above him. 

After a few more minutes, there is a small stream of sludge, Tomasio can feel his back loosening from the block of snowpack. He then pulls his right arm all the way out, and starts digging around his side. After a few minutes of furious scooping, Tomasio plops over on his back, again feeling almost nothing from the numbness; but he was free- and alive. Even his prized fishing pole gets dug out, unscathed. 

Tomasio stands beside the remnants of the deep hole that bound him: he thought how silly it all is, life so trivial and random, as he walks back home, knowing he will have to keep this harrowing experience to himself, there's no point in telling his mom. 

Tomasio thought again about the old owl, hoping it too made its way to safety, to another day. Lessons that come in pairs-- always look around while you're trekking, because sometimes a miracle must find you.