Soon the ground will lie to rest as winter's breath blows across the land. Trees stripped of leaves; green is only a memory. Firewood is stacked high as winter knocks at the door like a cunning wolf—your first steps on frozen grass sound like firecrackers on the Fourth of July.
Inside, cedar chests: you open them to bring back winter's clothing, and fur-lined boots make an appearance for a fighting chance against the cold. Boxes come down from the attic marked as Halloween and Christmas, put in a corner as a reminder it's almost time to decorate.
You decide one cold winter's day it's time to splash colors around the house, so Dad climbs a ladder and hangs the holiday lights, holding off turning them on until the last piece of turkey is gone and the switch is thrown, to the family's delight. Nextdoor neighbors applaud your labor of love for the season, with hundreds of lights and figures on and around the house, as cars filled with families drive through neighborhoods and beep their horns in approval.
It's a time of year when world troubles stay hidden for the time being, and neighbors wave and smile a genuine smile they mean, not a fake gesture expected from them. Cookies and fruitcakes sit on porches with a note that reads, "Happy holidays from your neighbors." Holiday parties are open invitations, a time to reconnect with people who lived feet away but seldom spoke, as they do when they smile and wave when the trash goes out to the curb.
Moms are dressed in festive dresses, often getting approval from someone she didn't know but later learned to be a neighbor, the same one she caught staring over the fence as she sunbathed last summer. The alcohol flowed well into the late-night hour, and kisses on the cheek and many thanks for the invite ended the party, leaving you and your man to clean up the mess, but looking at it all, deciding to let it wait until tomorrow. Dad teased her about her admirer but agreed she did look darn good in a bikini.
The holidays passed too quickly, and the day arrived when Dad took down the lights and put the boxes back in the attic until next year. There was a sadness about it, but that vanished as a huge snowstorm came rushing in like a locomotive racing by on frozen tracks. When the darkness passed and the sun came out, a winter wonderland greeted you as you looked outside at a world turned white. With hot oatmeal gone in four bites, the kids put on their winter clothes, and the door opened to a dream day. Sleds were brought out of the garage, ice skates were sharpened, and a family of snow angels appeared all around the yard.
At dinner time, the kids came inside frozen to the bone, with ice crystals hanging from their frozen brows and pounds of snow that somehow infiltrated into every nook and cranny on their snowsuits. Rosy red cheeks and endless smiles as they swapped stories about a snowball fight with neighborhood kids and a six-foot-high snowman knocked over by a misguided sled racing down the hill, while the dog grabbed the carrot nose and ran to safety. Summer time couldn't hold a candle to winter's fun, at least not in that moment. But that would change when the first warmer days of Springtime said hello; they watched baby saplings grow as spots of green pushed through the thawing land, and they thought about fishing in the stream, camping outside in tents, and eagerly awaiting summer to come knocking. But somewhere in the cool months of October, they talked about more than one occasion, and that was winter and boxes pulled from the attic.
You decide one cold winter's day it's time to splash colors around the house, so Dad climbs a ladder and hangs the holiday lights, holding off turning them on until the last piece of turkey is gone and the switch is thrown, to the family's delight. Nextdoor neighbors applaud your labor of love for the season, with hundreds of lights and figures on and around the house, as cars filled with families drive through neighborhoods and beep their horns in approval.
It's a time of year when world troubles stay hidden for the time being, and neighbors wave and smile a genuine smile they mean, not a fake gesture expected from them. Cookies and fruitcakes sit on porches with a note that reads, "Happy holidays from your neighbors." Holiday parties are open invitations, a time to reconnect with people who lived feet away but seldom spoke, as they do when they smile and wave when the trash goes out to the curb.
Moms are dressed in festive dresses, often getting approval from someone she didn't know but later learned to be a neighbor, the same one she caught staring over the fence as she sunbathed last summer. The alcohol flowed well into the late-night hour, and kisses on the cheek and many thanks for the invite ended the party, leaving you and your man to clean up the mess, but looking at it all, deciding to let it wait until tomorrow. Dad teased her about her admirer but agreed she did look darn good in a bikini.
The holidays passed too quickly, and the day arrived when Dad took down the lights and put the boxes back in the attic until next year. There was a sadness about it, but that vanished as a huge snowstorm came rushing in like a locomotive racing by on frozen tracks. When the darkness passed and the sun came out, a winter wonderland greeted you as you looked outside at a world turned white. With hot oatmeal gone in four bites, the kids put on their winter clothes, and the door opened to a dream day. Sleds were brought out of the garage, ice skates were sharpened, and a family of snow angels appeared all around the yard.
At dinner time, the kids came inside frozen to the bone, with ice crystals hanging from their frozen brows and pounds of snow that somehow infiltrated into every nook and cranny on their snowsuits. Rosy red cheeks and endless smiles as they swapped stories about a snowball fight with neighborhood kids and a six-foot-high snowman knocked over by a misguided sled racing down the hill, while the dog grabbed the carrot nose and ran to safety. Summer time couldn't hold a candle to winter's fun, at least not in that moment. But that would change when the first warmer days of Springtime said hello; they watched baby saplings grow as spots of green pushed through the thawing land, and they thought about fishing in the stream, camping outside in tents, and eagerly awaiting summer to come knocking. But somewhere in the cool months of October, they talked about more than one occasion, and that was winter and boxes pulled from the attic.
Mike 2026 
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