Braving frigid wind she'll trek
out to the shed where they are kept
Icy fingers fumble for
a grasp upon the wooden door...
Inside it's dark, and lonely too.
Soon she spots the crates of blue,
and twisting past the boxes stacked
she grips the handles now, at last...
Dragging them across the floor -
are they heavier than before?
The grating sounds on cold cement
brings a smile she can't prevent...
Out in the wind and snow once more
she drags her bounty toward the door
It seems so far away, her home,
yet weak and winded, she moves on...
At last, the steps to her abode
and up she drags her burdened load.
Now safe inside as wind whirls wild
At 46 she's like a child...
She drops her crates upon the floor
winter gear ripped off once more...
and as she cracks the sealed lids
a frantic scream escapes her lips!
The boxes lying on the floor
are not the ones she'd ventured for...
instead of lights, and Yule-time fluff
they're filled with ghosts and Samhain stuff!
LOL, ha, this will be me in a few minutes! Digging out the decorations from the shed.
Inspired by her Native American roots and Bradbury lineage, Polly
Taskey is a writer and grandmother in the northern USA. She shares her wisdom
and pagan interests through Pagan by Design and The Moonlit Grove.