I stand still, listening.
The night is quiet save for the rustling
of leaves in the woods behind me.
A full moon frosts the land with blue,
reflects in the clear ice on the deck.
Quiet. Stars shine above, telling no secrets.
At twelve o'clock exactly,
the windchimes ring
twelve times. Then silence once more.
The moon continues its path,
the stars make no comment,
but I know.
It is Christmas, come at last.