“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


i drove home last night in the late twilight,

my headlights reflected like fairy blossoms in the windows i passed;
there were bicyclists on the hill near home,
they headed up the other side,
me just beginning the downward slope toward them;
the red reflectors on the bicycles' back fenders
looked like christmas ornaments against the darkened road.

and i remembered
there are christmas trees in the jeep's backseat.
two. white.
one there since the end of january,
one there since sometime in spring.
when later i fell asleep,
i buried a poem deep in a dream of snow,
wrapped in winter light and red and silver paper.
i awoke to the august heat,
relentless against the windowpanes
but i swear i heard bells jingling in the distance.


  1. the pictures you paint, cool thoughts that make me read and leave and come back again. this photo that says surreal. these words that say escape, tomorrow,
    promise. a gift.

  2. Putting that last paragraph in my "quote book"...All that excellent literature is seeping into your DNA! `;-}

  3. Swimming in time... Lovely post...

  4. quiet brilliance against the reflection .. this time of the day is so rich yet soft...

    i LOVE your dream ..but know reality ;))

  5. Lovely. Especially liked "fairy blossoms" for its unexpectedness.

  6. Oh my goodness...magical words Debi. And the jingling really is not that far away...eeek... :)

  7. It's hard to believe when the days are so HOT that Christmas is four and a half months away. Your words always appear to me as images.

  8. Wow - this deserves to be published somewhere so more people can be so moved by your words.

    I feel your sorrow.

  9. i bet your dreams are amazing and fantastical.

  10. I'm so glad you don't follow the rules. (not that the august break thingie had any rules, but you know what I mean...)
    These beautiful words needed releasing.


come. sit under the emma tree & let's talk. i have cookies . . .