These Moments

What do they mean, really -

These moments?

Stockings full of sweet, thoughtful things;

Cinnamon candles that smell like wistfulness,

and tunes on the piano that sound like kindness;

Late nights at a fireplace

with those who share your time and story;

What do they mean, really -

These moments?

In an existence most often spent drifting through

fragments, trappings, and glimpses through the veil -

Like a rare second watching a crystal float,

frostily tinge a pinprick of a misty window pane,

then silently rivulet down the translucent landscape -

before getting back to the gray, monotonous grind of it all -

Yes, in an existence made up mostly of that -

These moments

are when we most consciously look backwards,

and forwards,

and presentwards.

These moments that are looked forward to, shared, and revisited -

they are the trunk of the tree

(which is our life)

whose roots, now buried, are made of time long past -

and whose branches stretch upwards, forwards, out of foresight,

into a thousand possibilities.

The past, here, is cherished fondly, with nostalgia

as warm and bittersweet as dark cocoa

The future, here, though uncertain, offers hope

of finding a few more times at least

some familiar songs, smells, and spaces;

and the present - dear reader, forgive the silliness -

the present is just that: a gift.

Warm, returning rhythms -

That is, at least in part,

what these holiday moments might mean.

With the redolence of something sweet

the sound of elderly laugher, and the sparkle of lights -

We are reminded once again

that it is a gift to live in time.