December First

Good morning!

Two weeks ago, I launched this blog and have since decided that I will post consistently every-other-Saturday (with the occasional surprise post in between). There are several larger stories that I hope to begin posting here in the future, and a couple short stories that are in progress, but first I need to go through them and revise them, not to mention finish them. In the future, I will post chapters or bits and pieces of those stories here every couple of weekends, but for the time being, here's a rough attempt at free verse poetry.

December First.

With the flip of a switch,

            the turn of the calendar,

the lights flicker on,

bathing the trees in their

golden glow.

The wind has stilled—

            there’s no need for it now,

and the people gather,

            strangers and friends,

drawn by the light.

They flood the streets and crowd

the sidewalks

watching, waiting, whispering,

            laughing,

Welcoming the turn of the page.

Cups of steaming wassail clutched

            in sampling hands

            float past, tempting, tantalizing.

Drawn by one vendor, I accept the

            offering and inhale the aroma of

            spice and fruit.

It’s hot on my tongue and

            wards off the cooling night,

Welcoming the change of the seasons.

People weave in and ‘round the Square

They stroll past vendors and booths,

            friends scampering after one another,

            lovers walking arm-in-arm.

Suddenly my side feels empty and

            cold, in opposition to the warmth

            of the lights.

I disappear into the crowd

            anonymous, alone,

breathing in the tang of wassail,

            and the heavy sweet scent of

kettle corn.

Crowds normally overwhelm me,

            but not this one—

Not tonight.

Tonight, despite the noise and sea of people,

            there’s a quiet to it all,

            a familiarity and a comfort

With the welcoming of the lights.

At the corner I pause,

            gazing at the Courthouse and

            its companions, the trees,

all clothed in lesser stars.

Horses and carriages clop past

            carrying families.

Children wave to others,

who dance in the street to the carols,

or who stand atop shoulders to peer

over hatted heads.

Then I turn and catch sight of

him approaching,

eyes wide as he absorbs the lights.

“I didn’t expect there to be so many people,”

            he says.

He sees them differently, as individuals,

            and that overwhelms him.

He doesn’t see the unity,

            the whole of the crowd as its

            own entity with each person

            a part of something greater.

He views it all as separate and

            places himself in the midst of

            the throng to be jostled

            and pulled along.

I see something altogether

            different, and take his hand—

finding my side no longer lonely—

as though by that connection

            he might share my sight.

I hear the music, the

            carols and the jazz and see how

it touches some instantly

but not others.

Those touched dance where they

stand while others simply stand

still as the columns of the Courthouse.

But while they may not show it,

            the music touches their hearts,

bleeds into them slowly,

Helping them welcome the night.

The crowd is vast, yes,

            but see how it moves?

Like currents in an ocean, moving

            together, swirling in and

among one another to the

tempo of the distant melodies.

In life, ‘tis so easy to grow lost

in that which we call

individuality,

So easy to focus on details

            and lose sight of the

            reason behind them.

Rarely do we stop to simply watch

            the moment occur,

to admire the rarity of so many

            gathered for a singular purpose:

To welcome the coming holiday.

I slip my arm around him;

            together we brave the sea.

He won’t see things as I do,

            but that’s all right, for

neither can I breathe in the

details as he does.

I can separate myself into the

            bystander and the experiencer,

and step away for a single second, breathe,

            and take it all in at once.

Among the crowd I feel alone

            save for him by my side,

            warm and solid.

He didn’t want to come at first,

            but came for me.

Perhaps that is the reason the

people gather.

Not for the wassail

            and the coffee;

Not for the horses

            and the carriages;

Not for the choirs

            and the bands;

Not even for the Nativity scene

            or for Santa.

But like the elderly couple who danced

            beneath the warmth of the trees

            oblivious to the entity swirling around them,

the people come because their hearts lead them,

To welcome the glow of the lights,

            The change of the seasons,

And the embrace of their Love.

My phone decides to less-than-favor taking photos at night,
but this is one I took of the lighting while waiting at the corner
so you might see what I was attempting to describe.

What did you think? Please, if you have any questions, comments, or critiques (little did you know that you are now my beta readers—an honor, might I add, so please don't run away) post them in the comments section below! Chances are that in the future, I'll ask specific questions and for you to help critique my writing in order to better it during the revision process.

Thank you for reading!