Today I dreamt of Christmas

Today as I lay in bed,
nursing my sore throat,
slipping in and out of sleep
until the sun beat in through the half moon window
forcing me to move,

I dreamt of Christmas.

Not the faux Christmas seduction
   attempted by stores 
   beginning much too early,
   but of this Christmas...

of letters sent to friends not close enough now
   yet treasured,
   recapping the year,
   recalling good times.

of ravioli made and frozen against the day,
   cookies pressed and decorated,
   menus planned, discarded or amended,
   but always upside-down cornbread
   topped with maple-drenched apples and sausage.

of boxes of ornaments and ribbon,
   gift boxes and bags,
   beauty arranged and re-arranged
   on tabletops,
   in windows,
   hung from lamps,
   festooning mantels.

of gifts brought out from hiding places
   (sometimes after much searching),
   last minute buys,
   the sharp joy of “just right.”
   Wrapped and tied and dazzling.

Tangible bits of love
yet not the real thing.

of Christmas Eve
   and church and carols,
   (hopefully of snow)
   and silent night
   all calm and bright with
   lights on houses and on trees.

of joy welling up from somewhere deep
   to overflow on all around,
   to sleep and wake too early
   and go downstairs to start the preparations
   for too much food,
   to read the Christmas story,
   to laugh and sing,
   exclaim over gifts
   and lie back,

replete
with love.