Tannenbaum

T all  wheels of ash, steel rimmed and narrow, come to rest.
          T he burden is light in the two meter wagon made in the style of a land far away.

A draw bar with T handle, parallel to winter’s blanket, points toward a ‘saltbox’ house
          A bandoned for the moment by the hands that pulled it there, it waits at ready.

N arrow corner posts projected upward, the lashings loosened a minute or two ago.
          N ow crisp air thickened expelled breath, slightly obscuring them from view

N earby, a wire fence traces a course along the field’s edge to open gateway.
          N othing has passed recently but two pair of boots  and a set of wheels.

E vening’s approach has cast the sky a deeper steel blue between grey wisps.
          E ach day’s light between now and first hay will be slightly longer.

N ew smoke rises from the chimney of a two story ‘saltbox’ house across the gate.
          N ightly lighting of lamps cheers the windows set back in stone and mortar.

B efore long, the forest some furlongs away will drift into dream and shadow.
          B edtime for the little ones has come with dreams of candy and new clothes.

A nother night will not pass before the cargo is carried in through the summer kitchen.
          A ngels of corn husk and ribbon will soon rest amid candle and bow.

U pstairs, small faces pressed to glass peer out toward the field with anticipation.
          U ncles and aunts will bring bundles of children and packages two days from now.

M eanwhile, the wagon will wait for tomorrow’s sun to glitter the ground.
          “M ight as well head in and enjoy Mama’s cooking” said Papa,
                  “ She will love this grand fir tree you have chosen”