tradition

he assembles our New Year treat
wondering what order
would taste best

options

pictures scroll by
telephone numbers and the ache in my neck
i leave a message and wonder if

after work

skeleton trees
silhouetted in the twilight,
draw the day from my bones

the morning

hot coffee on my tongue
nag champa drifting
and my knitting needles click in time to the stillness

shelter

bare now of glittery things
our tree becomes a refuge
from the cold

drive-by

sweet, plummy pipe-smoke
drifts from the window
of a passing car

christmas

shreds of paper, curls of ribbon,
squeals, hugs and happy tears
and the quiet joy of peace

before

soft snow underfoot,
the air is crisp and the silence full
of possibility

boy-child

blue eyes sparkle mischief
"you've got to see this" he says,
and takes my hand in his.

emma-dog

half-asleep and grumbling,
she whisks me out into the cold of the morning

chocolate biscuits

standing in the long line,
we share a guilty chuckle,
each of us having forgotten someone.

poetry is salad

waking up to words
tossed with feeling
until they taste right.

lucy

in her reluctance to move very fast,
the spotted pony gives my girl her brave back.

before the dawn

the moon shines in perfect alignment with the stained glass
where Coyote howls.

solstice moon

the night is metallic.
i step out into Her light and feel the strain melt away.

impulsive

needing vinegar for cleaning, i come home with coffee and croissants.
the chocolate ones are her favourite.

gravy

she wants to learn so i leave her stirring while i walk the dog.
he supervises, giving her tips.
when it thickens, she is delighted and stays to watch it.

bad dreams

because even brave girls get frightened, i wrap her in fleece and pour her some juice.

in the aftermath

sinking into the silence, i crave nothing more than this solace of words and the warmth of the mug in my hands.