Echoes

Dinner is done, gifts opened.
Mom and Dad snooze while waiting
for family calls.
I look around the camp.
Four sturdy walls hold secrets
of five generations.

Winter's lace has formed on
the icy window.
Outside a wild cucumber vine
sways gently - a remnant
from a warmer time.

Bare trees reach to the sky,
the sun leans toward the West.
The only sound is birdsong floating
from a gifted music box.
Fifty six years of Christmas memories
reel through my mind.
Secrets kept, secrets spilled.
Always a surprise to be revealed -
keeping childlike anticipation alive.

The soft pink winter sky rests
on darkened tree tops.
All is still...

This is Christmas
This is home