’tis the time of year
when the sky appears bleaker
than it did
day has closed
its eyelids tighter—
longer nights
shorter days
bears of the North
pulling their blankets
for hibernation has come.

’tis the time of year
when things wrapped in gold,
red and blue
surround the tree
adorned with things
sparkling and shiny.
‘Tis the season
of merry-making
of thanksgiving
to Him whose love
has sent a Boy
to save the world.

’tis the time of year
when sock-adorned windows
wait for the potbellied man—
he wears red and white
his beard as white as snow
they say he rides on a sleigh
with reindeers pulling
Rudolph leading
flying, gliding
but none has ever seen one.

growing up, I learned
that ’tis the season
not made for kids
but a time for all
to laugh
to love
to celebrate
to breathe
to forgive
to accept differences
to give hope.

when winter wind
has breathed its first
December clock
will tick and tock
on longer nights
and shorter days
it’s time to pause
and ponder.

’tis that time of year.