Childhood Decembers

Merry music from the radio, informing us that it's the season to be jolly; Dad is out and about, making plans for next year's crops; Mom is distributing chores to us 'rug rats', before we scatter; The fragrance of bakery flows throughout the little block house; Smoke from coal or wood is bursting out of the chimney top; The two well-spaced butane-fed space heaters are also blasting. It was often cold outside this time of year, but there's warmth inside. Warmth provided by adequate heating as well as our grateful hearts. Enchanting moments, treasured, memorable revisits, and forever cherished. Such magic-like moments have come and gone, nevermore to return. But Oh, the magic of memories, taking me back to early childhood Decembers. So many of my December yesterdays were priceless, and made of these. No cotton pickers, combines, big trucks, or trailers; the tractors are silenced. The crops are all gathered, and every direction you look provides pure-blooded quiet. It may or may not snow, and the roads could get very icy, but we always had fun sliding. In just a few more days, we would be happily out of school for our annual Christmas break. December. No work; No school; lots of play, and Christmas is not far away. What childhood heaven! Oh, Childhood. Where did you go? 113020PSCtest,Un-Rhy-Me Poetry, Brian Strand