❄ Reunion ❄

	I. 🍂

Now was cold every morning.

He could feel it in his nose most of all,
sensitive skin drawn achingly tight,
snifflingly sharp and pleasant.

Hot breath billowed and burst like a campfire.

The swish and crackle of dry leaves, now soaked soggy
as he swept his steps forward, forward, forward.

Red rubber boots kept his feet secure from the muck.

Mom made Hot Cocoa -
with Marshmallows AND Whipped Cream -
when he came back inside to warm up...

But that wasn't the best part about Christmas.

	II. 🍂

'Santa' worked hard, counseling his parents,
inquisitive and quiet and whispertive,
winking at him as if he didn't know.

They gossiped and conspired about
where they would go, and who would be there.

They questioned and cajoled:

Wouldn't he like,
and wasn't he excited?

And he would,
and he WAS...

But that wasn't the best part about Christmas.

	III. 🍂

His best friends bragged about what they'd get.

His best friends bragged about where they'd go.

Kids only get three,
maybe four good breaks per year,
according to law:

Two Solstices,
One Equinox,
and a Birthday at least;

Winter was two whole weeks of vacation!
Not as long as Summer, but longer than Spring -
and with presents,
and with candy,
like a Halloween haul AND a Birthday all at once!

But that wasn't the best part about Christmas.

	IV. 🍂

There were sights and smells and songs,
and he loved every one of them,
even though they always started too early for his parents.

"It's not even Thanksgiving yet,"
Mom would moan theatrically.
and Dad would reply, "Can you believe
that Big House On The Corner
has got their lights up ALREADY?"

And yet decorations would soon start to sprout:
a Wreath,
and then a Tree,
and then Little Saint Nick,
and Nativity Scenes,

And then the LIGHTS,
the ones that had to be unearthed
from The Depths Of The Garage,
and had to be put up with The Big Ladder.

"Hold it steady," Dad called down,
and he squared his shoulders
and planted his feet
and gripped the metal bars,
and did his best.

Dusty boxes from The Attic,
paper bags from The Store,
and soon the entire world red-and-green-shifted
into The Holiday Dimension,
it was all around him...

But that wasn't the best part about Christmas.

	V. 🍂

At last, at last, at last!

The ritual of the too-warm car ride out to Uncle Andy's,
way out in the country,
"Way Out In The Boonies,"
he could mouth the words along with his Dad, always the same.

Stuffed comfortably into the back seat
with his little brother
asleep on his shoulder,
the trunk stacked with boxes and overnight bags
and pajamas and treats.

Quavering carols on the radio.

Mom and Dad prophesying from the front seat,
who would be there,
what they'd bring,
what they'd see.

It was a postcard.

It was a storybook.

It was a comfort.

But that wasn't the best part about Christmas.

	VI. 🍂

Now: the rush of exhilaration!

Joyous greetings and hellos!
and darlings, and dears,
and warmth, and fuzziness,

And

then

finally

"Hey,
	Michael."

"Hey,
	cuz."

And he was already
crying, stupid,
choking, sobbing, STUPID,

but maybe this was the one place where it was okay to be stupid.

"Aw, come on dork, it hasn't been THAT long,"

But it had.

And this was the one hug that really mattered.

"You little dummy, I missed you too."

This was the smell,
this was the warmth,
this was the low rumble of amusement
and tenderness
and affection
that he'd ached for all year.

This was the best part about Christmas.

❄ The End ❄