Home For Christmas


The old church bells ring,

signaling the middle of the day.

Clouds try their best

to hold together against the sun.

They’re gonna win today.

They have a friend

in the East wind.

Fat and snow laden,

they creep back in

over the mountains,

like the tight formation

of a bombing run.

That’s okay.

Snow isn’t’ the worst thing.

It would be colder

if the sky was clear,

because the sun sets early

and a starry night in December

usually comes with the risk

of frostbite.

Playful time of year,

but this round it feels

somehow subdued.

The lights are out

along Main Street,

and even in the soft light

of a cloudy afternoon,

the shops and people

wear colors and ornaments

reserved only for this

festive time of year.

I am suddenly aware

of a strange feeling

of loneliness and disconnection.


on this busy,

small town street,

I feel like a man apart.

Not out of my timeline,

but separated only for this moment.

Perhaps it is age.

Perhaps it is reflection.

Then, I realize

that I am not really here at all.

This is a memory,

and I haven’t lived

in this quiet mountain town

for twenty-five years.

That old church bell

that used to ring

to sound out the middle

of each day,

only rings once a year, now

on Christmas.



DJR – 2022

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