Where My Heart Finds Christmas
Here I stand, wrapped soft and still with an infusing aroma of apple and mulled spice beneath a fir vibrantly draped with the heaviest hearts and tinsel, giving credence to the tears lost in sadness or for the requite of one true love.
Where would I be without the pageantry of Christmas Choristers, Chestnut fires and Dickensian traditions of eat, drink and be merry , to where the snow lays delicately, inviting spiritual regards toward vagrants sitting park benches, bin-lit alleyways, old granite soup kitchens or parents to be racing nervously into maternity halls of new life.
So appears this ‘man of red’, adorning my most precious memories in the form of old ghosts visiting shadows for a long weekend of deep recall and merriment, encasing this mind of yuletide prayer so many dismiss and yet privately crave every other day of the year.
Here next to me is thee, innocently delivering special gifts that come with friendship, holding hands and wishing peace for all men on a day when our spirits unite for that ever present wish called love…
…this is where my heart finds Christmas.
© Nick Hawkins, all rights reserved 20/12/13