On a drive to shop, a week before Christmas

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.

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