 My thoughts raced to mothers smile, warm and invigorating , on our way home - this cold day,from Woodland Alters The flurries flew by my window on the bus- like a blizzard, and quickly rushed to the side of the road Jack Frosted painted the window, yet I wiped his art work away--starring blankly into the sugar coated fields, where stalks of corn had been reaped at harvest Christmas was drawing near, and the few houses we passed, radiated in holiday cheer, with their twinkle lights and trees that proudly stood in the front windows Smoke plumed from their chimneys like a Christmas wreath, encircling the roof tops Excitement filled the old yellow bus, as kids noisily chattered anxious to get home and start the Christmas vacation But I pensively gazed at the silver white flecks, that dashed by my window, swelling my heart with the spirit of this season--trying to endure this long ride back to school The tree with all its trimmings was probably up by now with the sounds of Alabama's Christmas playing on the old vinyl stereo--with the wafting aromas of Moms meatloaf lingering through the house Growing more eager to see my Mother, excited to share with her my adventure at Woodland Alters: The Sugar Plum Lodge and the cold draft that ran across the floor at night as we giggled in our bunks trying not to be the first to fall asleep The evergreen forest that we hiked through that led to the old cemetary where we sat on a stump and our camp counselor told us the story of Salisbury Tom, who legend has it died from choking on a paper wad And this ride seemed so long, as it stretched on mile after endless mile curve upon curve, rolling hills and naked trees, with grass that peeked through a feather dusting of snow- How much further would it be? As we drove back to school in the yellow bus, it seemed like forever to this twelve year old girl,coming home from Woodland Alters on a snowy afternoon. (c)copyright 2006 all rights reserved. Winter Poems The Poetic Seasons Of My Soul |