Christmas Cometh
Christmas Cometh
by Ingrid Showalter Swift
Through a wind that never stops blowing
the house holds fast to the light
flickering candles in each window
hope calling out over a canvas of landscape base painted
in solid white
Auburn gold shadows creep along the horizon
where morning and night crest like waves upon each other
frothing sudden color in thier blending fight
Ruby red undertones flame up across the frost filled clouds
then die away slowly to golds and then ice gray
and then moonless white
in the lights of a passing car... flakes ignite..dazzle and die away again
an owl ...its bright black eyes
against round white face
calls out
"ahhhhooooooooooo"
swoops down across the vast field
its feathers struck out white
like white flames held aloft..........or flashing silver polished metal
against black forest and gray sky...
against
the now darkening of night
and I am reminded of a book from my childhood
that read...
"Who.... who... who ....are you?"
The candles flicker on dainty dancers of hope
leaping and falling and leaping again...
so like myself...I have to wonder...
do they never learn? do they never give up?
Turning from the window I smile at all the richness of the bright within
the colors of red and green...
the sparkle of packages and bows not yet even wrapped
but that will lie beneath my tree in time
the crackle of a wood fire...the smells of pine bows and of things I have collected
to celebrate these days
and I am merry ...in my soul
ever hopeful ever believing...ever true
ever listening ......
for your key hit
hoping it will still come someday...
if I am lucky...perhaps before Christmas has grown cold
in the hearth and heart once more
the owl calls out again
"Who who ......who are you?"
and I know who I am
I am a woman who loves a man
and for him I keep on the light
and ration like gold
the oil
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