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Holiday Time
January 9, 2026
Morning hums warmly in the kitchen
spice rising in soft ribbons,
windows fogged with late November breath.
Family drifts in with the wind,
coats hanging, laughter lurking,
the house swelling around us
like a held note.
At the table, light gathers
gold on plates, hands touching hands,
stories overlapping like threads.
Then the quiet: that small,
scared pause before the first bite,
gratefulness settling over us
soft as falling leaves.
And for a moment,
the whole room glows in the light,
a brief, bright promise that we are here,
together and enough.
© Anonymous
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