There's a groove in the floor
I slip into it each morning
I slide on cold steel casters
Driven by a low-rumbling steam
Pushed through my routines.

It goes down the stairs
And into the shower
And loops around to the mailbox
And past the fridge.

Sometimes there are a few splinters
Sometimes it's polished smooth
And it feels effortless to move along

I dream that the groove will lead out
Into the deep green forest
And crest upon a granite cliff
Where the vista over patchwork fields
And under rain-laden clouds piled high
Is opened up before me.

But it passes the table
And the TV
And the couch.

Next time it brings me to the mailbox
I'm going to make my big break.

It'll go like this, a December day
Dishes and laundry all put away
The thermostat  set way down low
The car is loaded, it's time to go

It'll be like this, a snowy road
Driving north with a precious load
Of treasures wrapped with anticipation
Our hearts are primed for the celebration

   Christmas has always been like this
   It’s what we go there for
   And what we'll miss
   Faces Familiar, stories heard before
   From the moment we face that wreath on the door.
   Our Christmas has always been like this
   It's what we're all looking for.

It's always like this, when we've gone half way
The weather turns to a snowy day
In the falling darkness, there are no other cars
Our headlights illuminate the on-rushing stars

   Christmas has always been like this
   It’s what we go there for
   And what we'll miss
   Faces familiar, stories heard before
   From the moment we face that wreath on the door.
   Our Christmas has always been like this
   It's what we're all looking for.

Hours gone by, and arriving at last
We're finally still after moving so fast
We sit in the car, a moment or two more
We take a deep breath and open the door

   Christmas has always been like this
   It’s what we go there for
   And what we'll miss
   Faces familiar, stories heard before
   From the moment we face that wreath on the door.
   Our Christmas has always been like this
   It's what we're all looking for.

Come and sit there on the cushion
Our chopping and mixing and baking are done
We must just sit and talk about nothing
And enjoy all these things
That we built as the sun went down

Come and share a drink with me
So much out there is pointless and lost
But in here there is a plan and an order
This we eat first, and then we'll eat that
And when we've drunk our glasses dry
We can fill them again

Come and help me gather these things
Stacked and washed and dried
We'll put them all on a shelf
Or into a purpose-made drawer
And they will be there for us again
On another lazy ordinary evening

Until one day our hearts
Will cry for want of just one more

It's like this, the rain
In grey and cold November
We feel it inside

"With the going down of the sun
And in the morning" go the memorable lines
And when the sun sets in my corner of the planet
It does indeed seem a good time for remembrance.

From the days when we lived among trees and grasses
The setting of the sun must have been a touch-point
For gathering one's clan members close
And with the brightening of each new day
There must have come a great but quiet relief
To have made it to the other side of the great darkness.

In a quiet twilight today
With the season's leaves all on the ground
After a blustery night yesterday
I think about the coming night ahead
Only in terms of slowing down,
Some good food
And an anticipated restful sleep.

But there are little gaps here and there in our lives
Aren't there?
The ones just away
Or whom we have lost for good.

And at the going down of the sun
And in the morning
They are with us briefly again.

Flit away on the wind
Swirling like autumn leaves
Twisting on the sidewalk

Children or dogs run through
Chasing this leaf then that
Then another distracts and they're off

Raked into a pile on the lawn
A gust blows them all away again
Tumbling down the street

Colours turn into browns,
Crisp turns into soil, sustenance for trees
Their branches reaching skyward

Sometimes I'm like the trees
Sometimes I'm like the leaves
Sometimes leafing, sometimes leaving.

Rumours like echoes
That reverberate off ice
Memories sometimes just don't feel like playing nice

They are the textures
Of the fabric that I wear
The holes, a coldness  
Through the stitches you made there.

Still the darkening of the day
Leaves long shadows
That persist in the strangest ways
And a chilling wind blows
Until the night swallows up
All the light

I send out words for the living
Thin but bright as if of chrome
Returning echoes are the ones that make it home.