A Christmas Treasure Years ago, when floors were bare, except for throw rugs, or scatter rugs as Grandma called them, Jack Frost would truly nip at your nose, as he tickled your toes. The winter winds calling softly the evening sun setting vividly against an old hollow of trees. The rustle, hustle, and bustle, of Mom, Grandma, Aunt Vivian and Aunt Ann slicing freshly baked bread and wrapping gifts and candies to place on and below the giant tree in the living room by the large bay window.
Lights brilliantly glow and flicker in colors of reds, greens, violets, and blues.
The lights small and large shadowed by strands of garland and ribbons and bows. There's little Rickie sneaking a piece of popcorn from the string hung by Aunt Ann at the bottom of the tree. A Christmas memory from Heather Settatree, Ontario, Canada. Christmas Eve, in church, watching the older folks tell us the story of the Birth of Christ. Here is a copy of a poem that I wrote last December for our oldest daughter.