WinterHaven

There is this reason I write in the middle of the night.  As an idea washes over me, I’m compelled to write it down; To follow & discover whether this small thread of thought & emotion becomes a solid thread that weaves into a solid piece that will stand on its own.    My writing nourishes me.  It’s healing my soul.  I hope my efforts will help be become a better writer, as I continue to fill paragraphs with more than the past!  I remind myself to open the door, let the creativity surge and come alive again!

Here’s the  hope that it will help heal the grief I’ve felt for the last year.  With a nod I acknowledge Thanksgiving has passed and Christmas is on its way.   Every year my husband and I take the family to  WinterHaven; This is a neighborhood of Christmas.  It has become a Tucson tradition to build this little neighborhood into a solid celebration every year for the season.   With anticipation, I often drive through this neighborhood weeks before the wonderland opens.  I watch the lights go up on home after home.   There is a gigantic tree marking the entry of the main street.  I feel a burst of joy when the trucks show up to trim the tree with its yearly lights.

One year, when my children were very young, we bought a horse-drawn single carriage.  We packed hot cocoa and blankets.  I felt the cold on my face, but my heart was warmed by my children’s excitement.  The sound of the bells as the horses trotted were a song that marked my memory as permanently as a staccato beat underlies life, a soul song of childhood and innocence;  The gasps of delight become delicate percussion with my breath.   I absolutely love WinterHaven.

It reminds me of home.

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