Merry Christmas

The cold feet of winter step slowly past December’s green leaves and red berries hung from window sills and door jams. Brightly wrapped in silver shooting stars tied tight with ribbons of challis and satin bows, hope of tomorrow lies shining beneath sparkling scenes of jolly smiling fantasies. Past remembrance of happier times, dreams lie untouched, packaged in soft tissue and gentle smiles against the breathy whispers of shortened days and the dark of evening reverie. Laughing fragrance of cinnamon, tickles past iced fingers on frozen window panes as the cider is heated, only to be left chilling, untouched, beside sweet wishes in sentimental ink, filled with ephemeral thoughts of fictitious emotions marking the passing of another day, as if transcending all others, that like it, passes, sunrise to sunset, one turn of the earth, special only because it falls at this time of year. A gentle brush of the hand against the worn wood of a varnished life sends a sparkle of glitter spilling from the torn seal, cascading unnoticed to the cold floor. Silence permeates the walls of this brightly adorned space. Only the low volume of distant voices, murmured from the flickering screen that sits alone atop the meticulously cleaned table in the corner, breaks the crystal glaze and thaws the solitude. In each object on each table is revealed the joy that could be, the remembered smiles, the bright brown and blue glints of excited anticipation that fill the frames, and used to fill this room. Time now broken, hands of the clock frozen, I stare at the brightly glowing, twinkling lights, as my liquid sorrow fills my unfocused eyes and I soundlessly whisper a lonely, Merry Christmas. 12/06/17