The Colors of Christmas
We drove through Pickens,
South Carolina, following
the road up and over
Caesar’s Head towards
Connestee Falls.
The elevation found a display
of autumn leave leftovers
and barren branches
hung on mountain trees.
The road, grey-misted
and lonely in an afternoon fog,
fell to a valley of green,
quite in contrast
to the December browns.
When we arrived,
Mother was hanging
icicle lights on the house;
it felt like home.
Even the rain
belonged to the day
and the cold outside
found a welcoming fire
inside where the children
and I snuggled
next to the Christmas tree
adorned with my favorite
childhood ornaments,
each special memory
remembered
by those represented.
As dusk seeped her color
across a western sky,
darkness twinkled
diamonds
into a clearing night
that brought a borealis
of pink, peach, and ice blue;
as my children
pressed their noses
to frosted glass
making Santa and reindeer
finger paintings,
I caught the moment
before it drifted away,
tucking it deep inside
next to last year's
Christmas colors.
