in Grandma's stories by the fireplace.
White speckled stars sprinkled on a cold December night,
drifting in contentment , watching me sleep.
Snowflakes, Central Park on Christmas morning,
melting on my tongue,
tasting like colorful, holiday window displays on 34th Street
and turkey dinners stuffed with yesterdays.
Smelling of youth and childhood...
cousins and siblings
snowmen and wooden sleds…
sounding like icicles glistening quietly on the porch
and songs wet with Grandpa's brandy.
Snowflakes roll down hills of contagious giggles,
scattering, wandering through each season,
slowly, sadly drifting away