December turns frigid.
Farm fields lay frost white.
Doors whoosh in a chilling air.
Car batteries charge.
Windows shade to opaque.
Coveralls dry by the pantry door.
Barn chores don’t stop.
Hay bales drop from mow.
Livestock reach through the open rails.
Eggs are gathered.
Milk is carried to house.
Breakfast gets readied on kitchen table.
Mom sets her donuts.
Sisters pour perked coffee.
Cereals and sausages are downed.
Round wood gets split.
9 siblings stay warmed.
2 stoves burn the wood eating fire.
The farm pond is frozen.
Skates lace in noon sunshine.
Sleds fall down the neighboring hills.
Five deal in for Sheepshead.
Pop tunes spin on record player.
Fizzling cokes and beers make rounds.
Schools are shut.
Mass starts at midnight.
Bulbs and ornaments color our evenings.
Just one bathroom.
One household phone.
One TV with black and white.
It’s Christmas week,
when events unfold.
My days play safe and worry free.
It’s Christmas week,
long long ago.
My gifts are wrapped in family.
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