I Yield

Come winter, I yield becoming a willing hostage without appeal; a prisoner to the solitary walls of the house, closed, secured behind windows, doors, a hibernating mouse. Writhing images come out the stilled and silent halls spirited ghosts freely walk lean and tall unchained from the past it's stalkings pleasing to come alive again, if only in the season. Celebrating holidays recalling those easily forgotten memories at play the gatherings of relatives, the aunts, the uncles unwind, cousins from afar, unseen at any other time. The house smells of spices, autumn winter scents pumpkin, nutmeg, apples, cinnamon, carving events; turkey with chestnut stuffing, fresh baked rolls and breads. anticipating laughter of football games with parades ahead. In the cold gray harshness of the winter tide these sweet memories manage to survive as each is revived to live again by family, dreams and gatherings of friends. Come winter, I gladly yield willingly giving all to everything revealed recalling each of those gone before but still close in memory thankful with the gifts of family, love given me.