I don’t remember when I wrote this but it holds sweet memories of Christmases past.

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Many a Christmas I remember well.

The fragrance of fir boughs,

The sound of Daddy reading our favorite stories.

Covered feet tripping to the edge of the bed,

Two blue eyes and two green and small soft noses,

Red lips whispering, “Mommy, Daddy? Is it time?

No, we would murmur, drowsy from a deep winters sleep beneath warm heavy quilts.

The shush, shush of tiny feet making their way back to bed.

Our hearts thumping with Christmas joy.

The coffee first. Daddy lit the fire.

Popping the sweet cinnamon rolls into the oven.

Sitting so close to the tree that I could hear the twinkle of clear glass icicles, were two dear children with cheeks a-glow, waiting with bated breath.

Now it’s time.

One by one, each gift was opened.

Steam rose from our cups and laughter filled our hearts.

Yes, tears fell and shoulders shrugged and love was there.