Because Nov. 23 until Dec. 22, is really Fall, I am referring to this as Un-Winter Cup |
Today I am following my heart Leaving the city for parts that are piqued With pleasure and simple treasures. Where the business of life falls away And meandering and discovery are rampant. I find a little town decked out in festive flare. Carolers sing at the village green Dressed in finery of olden days And I smile at the nostalgia That it conjures. I amble along the sidewalks Where others pass and smile I am struck by the relaxed pace The unhurried parade of people Happy to gift you with a 'hello' And a Merry Christmas. The mixture of this is befuddling to my senses. I find the shops kindly and peculiar Some filled with extravagant displays Others simply offering up their wares No pushing, no shoving, just looking. Each of us on a search for the perfect thing To brighten up a loved ones face And warm their heart as they find Confirmation in ones love In the giving of the object. I step into one place and smile As the bell rings in my arrival. The clerk looks up and smiles Greeting me with a welcome That is not forced, but friendly. My eyes scan the displays Which are a haphazard collection of items Though old, like a step back in time, There is not a cobweb in sight. A piquant place of divine discovery. I move farther into the place Feeling embraced by the odd sense of time Slipping away as I reach out to touch A set of decorative china tea cups Their gloss shimmering in the mid day sun That dapples through the windows. A pair of fine spectacles Lays on an open book of poetry And a feather pen plume rests In a empty glass vile Just waiting to pen a tale of adventure Or a mystery, or a romance... Whatever seeks your fancy. I make my way, walking slowly Looking and touching and letting my mind wander In the field of memories that the things reawaken for me. I am comforted by those memories The ones of times past When simple was tantamount And life was lived in the small moments Where childhood danced and sang Free and easy. I decide on a little, black metal wood stove Like one I used to have as a child; One that was just like my grandparent's real one Where my grandmother conjured up The sweetest cinnamon buns, The tastiest biscuits and The softest, most fragrant bread. Memories woven with love In the passage of time And held firmly in place by the senses. My little wood stove holds these memories And reminds me of where I have come from; A place of love and encouragement Which is what I needed to remember And why I came to this haven To find a slice of peace In a broken, busy world Hell bent on thrusting itself forward Without a care of the past. The past is what made us. The people and memories of that past sustain us Through the grunge that is the Now. And I am made stronger for that memory. Thank you and Merry Christmas! Lines = 82. Day 23 ▼ ** Image ID #1855238 Unavailable ** |