My Greeting Card For You

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Abstract

mberflyaway thoughts blow in with the wind, obligations flood crevices in my mind, things to do, people to talk to, before Christmas comes or at least before the New Year finds us.Yearning cries, “Rest. Write. Make something.” “No time for that,” says my anxious brain, until the last present is bought, last package posted, last cookie baked, and the fruitcake unpacked from the paper where it ages.IIThe day after Solstice tried to cut short the dark and point us back to light,

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I felt a blizzard closing in, and looked up from unfocused editing of fractured notes to see ferocious grey clouds and freezing winds choke the sky light as they swooped down to prophecy blinding snow and another sudden night.It was the kind of night the settlers used to die in — too far from home, without church bells to call out for them.We are rich and warm and fed because they often went without, and this is reason enough to shut the book of things to do and savour the refuge that is now.</article></body>

My Greeting Card For You

Winter Sky in Alberta Canada, by the Author, Credit Jane Harris

And in true Canadian holiday tradition, it’s arriving three days after Christmas.

Advent Skies

Even when a Chinook turns our horizon to turquoise and blue expectation, the multi-coloured sunset bonfire lasts only a few minutes in December

flyaway thoughts blow in with the wind, obligations flood crevices in my mind, things to do, people to talk to, before Christmas comes or at least before the New Year finds us.

Yearning cries, “Rest. Write. Make something.” “No time for that,” says my anxious brain, until the last present is bought, last package posted, last cookie baked, and the fruitcake unpacked from the paper where it ages.

The day after Solstice tried to cut short the dark and point us back to light, I felt a blizzard closing in, and looked up from unfocused editing of fractured notes to see ferocious grey clouds and freezing winds choke the sky light as they swooped down to prophecy blinding snow and another sudden night.

It was the kind of night the settlers used to die in — too far from home, without church bells to call out for them.

We are rich and warm and fed because they often went without, and this is reason enough to shut the book of things to do and savour the refuge that is now.