Here it is again: that time for tasseled toques, merry family discussions over which ornaments are the ugliest (and therefore should not adorn the top of the tree), snowshoeing up a mountain and tobogganing down it, and wind-up car races with the nieces and nephews.
It's a favourite time of year for many, yet it flies by as fast as Ol' Saint Nick is purportedly travelling in order to make it down all of our chimneys. I wrote a poem three years ago, highlighting some of the season's characteristics. See if you can find what's missing:
Holidays
Wreaths of red,
sequinned nights,
jewelled hues,
brilliant whites.
Glittering crystal,
steaming dishes,
crooked angels,
forlorn wishes.
Stuffed stockings,
vacant pockets,
lone oranges,
treasured lockets.
Dripping mittens,
smeared windows,
toothless eaves,
draggled bows.
Flaming wrappings,
stale nut-bread,
packing boxes,
brittle trees dead.
In the amount of time it takes for us to dehydrate an already-dying Douglas fir, the fridge is full of turkey leftovers, the recycling bin stuffed with cardboard packaging, and the closet crammed with boxes labelled for re-gifts. Today, tomorrow and the rest of this week, Don't Forget Love. Don't let any opportunity to love someone you know—or someone you don't, pass by. This is a season for sharing joy, peace, hope, hospitality, and friendship.
Merry Christmas!