Sunday, December 13, 2020

Talking to Myself Fifty-Two

 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.

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