It is quiet and the lights of the day have come to
a close. The children are sleeping in heavy breaths… curled up with tufts of
covers surrounding them like a mother’s comfort.
I remember my grandmother
cupping my cheek in her hand as she looked into my eyes. She would tell me that
children can only grow when they sleep… she kissed the memories of my past.
The Christmas tree is full and bright. The scent of
generations past falls on my eyes as I focus on one ornament and then the next.
I feel the comfort of the season with every breath. And I inhale the quiet.
Shannon
R Killman
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