Christmas Eve

Laurie Wilson
Dec 24, 2020

Christmas Eve —
Sun in front, the moon behind.
Casting long orange fingers,
reflected purple in the puddles.

The only sound my boots
over the sodden earth.
The trees, barren and severe.
The stinging cold a pleasure.

A rare plane overhead splits the silence.
The smell of woodsmoke signalling home.
Almost there

--

--

Laurie Wilson

Indexing my inner space explorations. Borrowing from others who’ve done the same.