the days are dropping one by one from the limbs of this year,
going pale and then gone forever into the past, never to be seen again.
their memories stay but they are only that,
their colors brighter than the truths,
their sounds quieter, their whispers almost too loud.
it's the ache in my arms and the hurt in my wrists that remind me,
the still painful twist of my ankle from all the turning aways.
this coming season says soft,
tells me that christmas will be full of silent nights
and small gifts.
that cleaning the house takes second place to family and friends;
that the lights will be low and the tree will be hushed.
i will run late and not worry.
i will turn the volume down to one
and ignore the red bars that urge me to turn it back up.