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.

familyholidaymemorywinterquatrain

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