I walk home in the cold misrable darkness,
Waiting to wrap myself in a blanket of heat.
I know that its only steps out of reach,
And I hold onto that hope that somewhere out in this blizzard,
my heated home is waiting; waiting for me to stomp my boots outside,
and to turn the heat up, way up. But that is only hope.
I try to warm myself up by thinking of what fun I can have when the wind dies down.
But it is helpless.
Blindly I make my way slowly through the mountain of snow,
the wind whiping at my ears and neck.
Reminding me that I was in a rush and forgot a scarf and hat.
But as I cross the street and see my house in the distance glowing from the lamplight,
I know that hope is not lost.
Once inside I hang my mittens and jacket on the heater so that I can go out later;
when the storm has died down and when memories can be made.
So, when the cold is lost somewhere else and it is safe to go out, I do.
I see, all around me lights and candles.
I know they are having fun under the Christmas tree or under their lighted candles,
but I do not wish to join them.
I can make my own memories. I don't have to celebrate anything, all I have to do is
have fun and enjoy my month of December.