Fanciful images play gentle on the minds of children young and old.
Anticipation becomes a forever word that compels dreams and expectations
to struggle with and sometimes overwhelm impatient patience.
Exotic perfumed scents of fir hovers in the air exciting already taut senses.
It clashes delightfully with the bombardment of brash bright colors that
blink, blink, blink slowly mesmerizing hurried minds into thoughts
of blissful peaceful solitude.
Touch the air. Feel it effervesce with sparks of remembered enjoyment.
Of days filled with colors wrapped and tied into careful gifts brought forth
from a rotund man wearing colors of white and red.
The shadows of log fed flames lightly dance around the room in friendly
shades that caress softly and speak messages of comfort and safety.
Familiar melodies bounce along walls and ring bells of spiritually dusted joy.
Mother, covered with the flavors of passed down recipes drops
her apron and proclaims the evenings feast .
Mouths water from images of epicurean delights and eyes widen
anxious and desperate to take it all in.
Now and then I ask myself...
Can love expressed in this complex manner
cut through the hostilities of everyday inconveniences?
We smile and cheer on this annual ritual in hopes
that in some way this interruption in time
will clear away the sludge that clogs the engine
of soiled relationships bred with the guilt of
Auld lang syne and the countdown to Day one, once again.