Christmas 2018 is past; not even a trace remains–except, of course, the memories and the gifts. The tree is down, ornaments are boxed away. As Matt tackled the complex world of Word Press on my computer and got it back into its old, familiar, much more user-friendly format, Nathan and I took boxes to the garage. Boxes that represented Christmas. Now, it’s all packed away until next year.
No snow yet, but I can dream and remember, and, now and then, write a poem.
Winter Lullaby
A cricket creaks its slumber song beside the fireplace glow,
While posts and picket fence outside wear mounds of rounded snow.
The winter eve is etched in white, all softness, still and deep,
And, drowsy, watching falling flakes, the world drifts into sleep.
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