’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the cabin
we all were done eatin’, we all were done gabbin’.
My partner, the dog, and the cat, and yours truly
sat cozy and warm in our practical woolies.
The wood stove was glowing, the teapot kept hot.
That last cup of chamomile sure hit the spot.
We listened again to our Christmas CD
and sometimes joined in, only slightly off-key.
Our few decorations framed the view to outside
where fluffy white inches of snow sure did hide
all the raw and rough edges of our complex world.
It drifted, it danced, and it floated and twirled.
Now we didn’t buy presents. We have quite enough.
We gave to the food bank and donated some stuff.
Sure, Christmas is different now that I’m older.
For one thing, my bones feel a little bit colder.
But I’ve always loved Christmas. When I was a kid
I poked and I peeked to find out what was hid.
I made miles and miles of looped paper chains.
I hung silver tinsel. I hung candy canes.
I hung up my stocking, kept an eye on the sky,
so sure I’d see Santa and reindeer soar by.
Those times were so special – the thought keeps me warm.
But now Christmas joy has a whole different form.
It’s quiet like northern lights arcing above.
It’s cozy like partner and dog and cat love.
It’s tasty like holiday turkey pot pie.
It’s soft like a satisfied yawn or a sigh.
It’s magic like ice candles lining the trail.
It’s thoughtful like Christmas cards sent through the mail.
It’s friendly like shovelling snow for a neighbour,
enjoyed as good exercise rather than labour.
The holiday madness can stay at the stores,
and I’ll stay at home, where the spirit is more
like “Joy to the World” and, for sure, “Silent Night.”
May your holiday heart fill with peace and delight.
