Flowers on Sunday Were Merry

I put out the Santas and the tinsel tree, and bought flowers on Christmas Eve.  I found some music on the radio, and stayed off Instagram.  There was a floor lamp at the thrift store, exactly what I wanted.  My friend brought over cherries and cold, rare roast beef – and went home in fog that only Rudolph could navigate.  With just 12 minutes to spare, I drove to the store for a couple of things I forgot.  The streets were empty.  And then, like everyone, I was heading home.

The roses bloomed on Christmas, just as I hoped, and the clear blue sky chased the fog away.  Santa came. He always does.  My people made sure of me, and the boys got their stocking stuffers and money.  By eight p.m., it was over.  Together, Santa and I let out a sigh of profound relief – and climbed into bed for our long, winter’s nap.

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