Tis a quiet eve with monsoon rains falling,
dissipating the two feet of snow
that covered the landscape earlier this week.
Exterior Christmas lights extinguished,
I wonder why as the Christmas season continues
but to each ones own. My tree still glows.
Christmas cookies have been gifted to friends:
tins filled with Cherry Winks; Chocolate and Pecan Shorts;
Ginger Snaps; and Raspberry and Coconut Squares.
Rains have laden the garden bare of cover,
a cover needed but for now with warm temperatures
my fingers are crossed for its health come spring.
A Christmas gift to meself lays waiting for opening.
Another six books are piled on top of two dozen
awaiting to be cracked and read once night falls.
The History of the Lost Gutenberg is calling to me,
yet I need to finish one I began reading two months past.
The temptation to book mark is great, however...
My history, my paternal family research surprises me
with every twig I find them in West Canada and US,
always seeking employment and resettlement.
My voice, o my voice has returned with training
once having perfect pitch, somehow it had faded
but now I’m thrilled with its return, sing on!
As I surround meself with serenity of sound
and look out at the fog shrouded night
I give thanks for another year of love and light.
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