Laundered Angel Clothes

 Christmas time is coming soon,

a very special night.

Everything in Heaven and earth

should sparkle shiny bright.

So all the little angels

have washed their formal wings

and polished up their halos

and other angel things.

Now on this magic Christmas night

if the sky emits a glow,

it's just the fresh scrubbed glimmering

of laundered angel clothes.

Christmas Slipped In

Window corners frame feather frost.

The teabag dips...dips...steam rises.

Candlelight bathes ancient hands 

over thin pages...

"And she brought forth her firstborn Son..."

Floorboards sing with the rocker  

and a purring cat.

Venerable eyes of reverence

Caress the beloved words...
"For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, Who is Christ the Lord."

Tock...tock...the midnight clock.

Cold west wind

knocks at the door.

The old woman leans...

rises...

Did the angels knock?

She cracks the door.

Christmas slips in.

Finding Christmas

Long ago Christmas
Come back to me
Your drifting snow...
Your whitened trees.

The warmth of stove,
The smell of wool,
The secret smiles
The taffy pull.

Grampa's big shirt
Soft flannel check
My arms wrapped tight
'Round his strong neck.

Sweet cherry pipesmoke,
Barely there...
draws me up close...
Mem'ries in the air.

An old wicker rocker
Drawn up to the oven
Toes to the warmth
Just me and a cousin

Arms round each other
We share a sweet treat
Fresh Snickerdoodles
with little sweetmeats!

Gram's floury apron
she sheds for a chair
brushing a stray tendril
back to her hair.

I have Gram's laugh
I have Gramps smile
I'll have them both
For quite awhile....

Here in my soul
With all my Christmas's
Painted bright forever
On my heart's canvas.

I only need close my eyes
And I'll be there again
Flying on a bright red sled
Building fat white snowmen

Trudging through the drifting blow
Up a darkened country road
So dark the course I cannot see...
Look up and through the trees

Like a ribbon through the pines
Theres' all the old Christmases
Just follow the skyline...

The Key

She found the key lying soundlessly under the drawer's false bottom.

She knew it was there...all she needed to do is lift to from it's sleep.

Simple, cold steel. So easy, so heavy.

Where there's a key, there's a lock, she thought.

Why lock it up? 

Lock what up?

My point exactly.

Is it valuable?

Secret?

Shameful?

Painful?

Through the dark halls the key rode silently in her pocket.

Past door after door with no keyholes.

Nothing shameful.

Nothing of value.

Nothing to hide.

Then, there it was.

The door with the keyhole.

The only door in the house with a keyhole.

The key grew warm in her hand.

What if she discovered the secret?

The shame of what lay hidden beyond the keyhole.

The valuable thing that needed to be locked against theives.

Or hearts.

Her palm grew moist.

The key waited, trembling.

Given the chance, it would reveal and she'd know everything.

Fear fought the key in her pocket.

The battle was epic.

Fear won out.

The key knew it would never win, salved it's wounds and went back to sleep in the drawer.

She knew it's hiding place.

She could go there later.

Or not.

Christmas is Hummin'

It was late November.

"No Christmas music 'til after Thanksgiving," he decreed.

But she went to buy brocolli, coffee and paper towels.
And there it was.

Joy to the World.

Out the store PA and into her ears.
And into her heart and into her head.
And she hummed it under her breath through the day.
"I hear you humming. That's a Christmas song, isn't it?  Stop that!" he demanded.
But she went to buy a dress.

Nothing fancy, nothing special, nothing for Christmas.

And there it was.

Silent Night. Holy Night and FaLaLaLaLa....playing out loud among the chrome racks of simple clothes.

And then playing in her head.

And she hummed it quietly as she did the dishes.

"I hear you," he said.

But she went to the bank.  Ah sweet respite! No Christmas music to dodge.

On the way home, she saw it...the tree lot. 
THE Tree Lot.
She stopped for just a sniff of the fresh, wet evergreen.

And there it was.

Oh Tannenbaum blasting from tin loudspeakers.

She hurried away, humming.

She slid the turkey into the oven.

And hummed in Excelsis Gloria.
He raised an eyebrow and went to greet the guests.
She washed the last dish and hummed Silver and Gold.

It was time.

"Do You Hear What I Hear?" she asked.
"We need a Little Christmas," he replied.
"Does this mean I can hum?" she inquired under the mistletoe.
"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," he granted.
Then I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus.

Covenant Storm

The covenant storm arose,

Drifting over the orchard...

A grey theatre curtain stretched by a contented God.

Joy rose in her heart like a prayer.

The drops began at the end of the porch.

Big splotches and small, hitting shoes, hair, shoulders.

The sky cried with solace, promise.

Tears and rain mingled...her signature,

her vow,

her contract...

Her covenant with God.

Winter's Children

Snow fell all day, straight down, like a hushed, white curtain.
She sat within, rocking, smiling.
He said, "Old woman, what's got you smilin?"
"Nothin," she said.
But the quivering wouldn't stop.
Under her ribs, under her starched apron, dusted with flour.
My! I'm too old for this, she thought, trying to be aggravated.
Still...she thought as the window tugged at her eyes.
Still...the snow fell.
Was it only inches deep now, maybe feet?
Was the bread done?
Check the bread...and the apple stump by the pond...just a glance.
Her fingers shook a little, lifting the pans from the oven.
Dumping the crusty brown loaves to the table.
Slathering the tops with butter.
Covering the hot bread with towels.
Just a glance but she'd seen.
So undignified, she thought, but to no avail.
Eyes closed, she swayed close to the fragrant loaves....inhaled deep.
"What you thinkin' about, old woman?" he asks with humor.
"How good this bread smells," she replied with relish.
Snow angels, she thought, a red sled with FLYER painted white on it's seat.
She moved back to the rocker.
Her smile returned.
"What you thinkin' about now, old woman?" he asked.
"How you're gonna have to shovel the drive." she replied.
A snowman with coal eyes, she thought.
The snow still fell, heavier now.
Darkness began spilling from the edge of the woods.
There it was again...a tremble under her ribs.
A small, delicious shiver in her feet.
You're too old for this, she thought, and tried to be annoyed.
"I hate going out in this," he grumbled.
"I should check the chickens," she replied.
"Wear your boots, old woman," he called.
She never heard.
He watched at the window, smiling.
Wonder what she'd say if I brought the toboggan down from the attic, he thought.