Talking to Myself Fifty-Two December 13, 2020
Photo by Janet Wyatt
A strange year. They give us rules
and more rules, but too many people
are getting sick. A vaccine is coming,
but will there be enough? Health
workers first and then the elderly.
Meantime the postal service isn’t
working well. Letters disappear.
Ordered books don’t arrive. Bills
can’t reach their destination, and
people buy on line and wait for
their packages. Rene brings her
church’s basket of fruit. Neighbors
bring wood. A few cards arrive.
More gifts go into the mail. Will
they get there at all, much less in
time for Christmas? We rejoice that
we’re alive, that our woodstove
heats our small house, that our
old dogs sleep. I take gingerbread
to the postal workers and my friends
at the Mini-Mart. Janet helps me
make cookies to take to loved
people. I can’t do all I used to, but
I do some. I send words by email
and mail. I wrap a few books for
the grandchildren. Christmas is
for peaceful nights, celebrations,
feasts and smiles. We are healthy
We have each other, we are warm
and well-fed. This year, too, will
slowly pass and bring us joy again.