It is the other side of Christmas,
just a day or two;
You can feel the holiday has gone,
melted away
leaving behind patches of snow.

No more rushing and bustling
of crowds' anticipation
in the air;
only stillness.
Like the last notes of a music box,
the hectic festivity
has wound itself down

The holiday lights still hang in the trees of the city park
where Athena and I have come on our walk
because is it not too far, not too cold
for the arthritic limbs.
We sit among
the lingering vestiges of the season.

Not flashing, blinking greens, reds or blues
against the pitch dark night
but simple  beacons:
starry strand upon strand
wound through leafless limbs
like popcorn strung around black licorice sticks.

It is the other side of Christmas,
just a day or two;
You can feel the holiday has gone,
melted away
leaving behind patches of snow.

No more rushing and bustling
of crowds' anticipation
in the air;
only stillness.
Like the last notes of a music box,
the hectic festivity
has wound itself down

The holiday lights still hang in the trees of the city park
where Athena and I have come on our walk
because is it not too far, not too cold
for the arthritic limbs.
We sit among
the lingering vestiges of the season.

Not flashing, blinking greens, reds or blues
against the pitch dark night
but simple  beacons:
starry strand upon strand
wound through leafless limbs
like popcorn strung around black licorice sticks.

Though only early evening
there is no hum of traffic
or distant music.
We are wrapped in a silence you can almost touch,
as if the college town itself
has left for winter break

Together we sit
a woman and a dog,
peacefully together
on an almost
holy night.