Hidden deep

Holding on to the season
of Christmas
like a treasured bauble
hidden deep in my hand
When asked what season
I love most,
it for now,
is Winter.
Padding downstairs
to eat buttered toast and Apricot Jam
on rye.
Bittersweet coffee with steam
spiralling upwards,
those Heavenly angel wings.

The sweet scent of our Christmas tree
every time
I pass the open door of the front room
and the radio,
carolling just loud enough to hear.
Music.
Wrapping.
Reading a dog eared copy
of The Chronicles of Narnia
humbled by the fact that
CS Lewis
lived a stone's throw away.
This season
now the
Ghost of Christmas past