I am grateful for the snowflakes

tumbling from the sky this raw, icy morn,

soon to be the first day of winter.

The flakes came, carried in a fog that refused to lift its veil,

forbidding entry of my human gaze

upon the crystal vapors.

The misty bride guarded her gentle bounty

cloaking the simple snow drops

within the rolling cloud,

enveloping the paths, the trees, all life. 

We plowed through the brume

as renegade flakes escaped the encampment,

ones with gelid backbones

that splattered against the windshield

only to be melted into momentary rivulets

tearing down the window until dried by

the warm expiration of our transport,

leaving but dusky points to be washed

away by the blue winter liquid,

giving clarity and erasing

the sterling flakes from the memory of eternity.

And as we continued our journey,

the fog conceded, released its grip, and

all the flakes with delicate arms and legs,

danced together, a caracole to the ground,

to lay one on top of the other

knitting a blanket so tightly woven

that spinning wheels, fishtails, and quickened heartbeats

completed the tango of the season on the return home.

                                    *

Looking out my December window

her gray white sky faded into snowy roofs

fashioning an ashen field where trees, bare limbed,

write their names without aid of summer leaves

whispering the correct spelling,

only bony tendrils staying their place till the return of spring.

The fading light of the afternoon

calls the alabaster backdrop to rest,

but this joyous season has its own proposal.

The monotones are tickled by Christmas lights

popping on one after another as the shoppers and workers

return to their dens from the days industry.

Bright red and green balls sparkle as the light

imprisoned inside the Lucite globes

light the path for the neighbor

crossing the street to open the little metal box

holding a letter from his love,

or the doctor bill demanding payment

for an illness not healed.

There are no bicycles trailing with laughter

this frigid and late afternoon.

Only snow covering ice,

ice refusing to melt and hidden in readiness

to play its joke on the unsuspecting neighbor

carrying the letter back up the driveway

and disappearing into the cavernous opening.

                                    *

Bremen sleeps, content on the rug

placed ever so smartly,

giving the perfect perch for observation

as we three go about the end of our day,

each to our own patterns and beats.

He rests assured, his job

keeping us safe as each of us alights to complete

the daily chore, wrap another present, and

snooze away the bitterness of the first seasonal cold.

Soon the heady spiced breath of the pot roast

rises from the stove gathering us together once again.

We light the candles,

all four this last week before Christmas,

the Advent wreath that has graced my home since childhood.

Not the exact wreath itself, but still four candles burning

in this last week before the birth.

The birth that is meant

to make us rejoice, be thankful,

and glad that we are loved.
But we forget.

He is not just here on that Christmas morning.

We forget He is never gone.

He is here in every snowflake and doggy sigh.

He is here in the biting cold and the neighbor’s noise.

                                    *

I am grateful for these days spent in quiet and activity.

I am grateful for this house where lights of the season sparkle

and window shades open to the falling snow

and the peaceful final hush of the night settling in.

I am grateful for the love of my boys.

One who says a rosary for me every day.

One who wags his tail with even just a hint of my presence.

And the last who fills my soul with joy at every turn.

I cannot want for more.

I thank you, God, for my blessings.

They come in the silence of the night as Venus winks at me.

They come in the flowers of my garden,

even in winter with snow and dried leaves

and berries waiting for the birds.

They come in what I am setting free.

I am lightening my load, letting go,

going further down the road with less.

And I am grateful You are here with me 

in every moment of the journey.

Author’s Note:

This began as part of my daily writing today. Thanks to the 750 Words website, I am pushing myself to write 750 words every day even though I don’t have a specific project attached to this, except for the 50,000 word novel that I just wrote and am attempting to re-write and ignoring at the moment. (sigh) 

I am working towards letting go of the negatives in my life. Anything that drags me down, be it a physical thing or emotional or a relationship, I am learning how to let it go.  This morning’s 750 Word piece started as a blurting but turned into a poem as I went to edit and re-write it this evening. I’ve been reading some personal manifestos of some bloggers and I am very interested in writing one for myself. This piece may be a beginning of that journey for me.

In any case, I love that this turned into a Christmas prayer of sorts. I guess we all have our own way of praying and thanking God. I need to remember that.