parenting

Christmas Day

We emerge from our winter slumber.
It is still dark outside.
The sun has yet to greet the horizon.
The house is aglow
Lit with joy and glee
For Christmas is here.
And the big Jolly Elf
Emptied his sack
The giving and generous spirit he is.

The children can’t hardly wait!
They’ve counted down the days.
It’s taken so long, it seems,
For this day to appear.
The presents are lovingly wrapped
In festive colored paper
of snowmen, Santa himself,
Reindeer and penguins.
They shimmer in the
Sparkling Christmas lights
Under the tree.

It's the moment we’ve all been waiting for.
Let’s tear into the mysteries
That lie beneath
The paper and tape that sheathes its true contents.

Paper is tossed into a huge pile.
Opened packages are placed in neat rows.
A surprise accompanies a feigned smile, 
Sometimes confusion
Or a true delight.

I savor the magic in the air
 
Music softly plays
A fireplace flame flickers on the screen.
The kids sneak a bite of candy or two.
There on the floor,
Under the tree now bare
Its goods all opened
All before breakfast.
Creative Fiction

The lives that dream beyond the window pane

The lives that dream beyond the window pane
a glimpse into the soul
but I can never surmise what is really there.

I see a middle-aged woman bending over
is she too old and unable to stand upright?
Does she use a cane or a walker?
Is she always carrying a heavy load along with a heavy heart?

She is bending over to what I can’t see. I am curious about her life. Does she suffer? Did she ever feel pride and proud of her accomplishments?

I can wonder and assume. I find that I transpose my feelings as if we share one heart, one life, one soul. But the story is not mine.

She is bent way down and I can just see the top of her grayish hair pulled into a high bun on her head. What mysteries lay out of my sight.

Now she moves. She is standing once more. Her arms are full with the warm embrace of a child that she lifts up so they can talk and see each other eye to eye.

The child and the woman are smiling and the woman starts swaying a gentle dance. Is there music? Is there song?

Her eyes and face are bright. She no longer seems bent over, weak and worn. She is full of life with the sweet babe who lights her soul and mine as I continue to pass on my way.

A smile on my face that she is not suffering nor am I. The world is lovely and has tender moments and I’m grateful to be the silent witness of this loving magic that fills the air.