Tradition

The smell of fresh-baked homemade sweet rolls cooling on a rack,
Butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon are drawing me back,
Down this broken-snow-floored highway, Christmas Eve again.
Going home for the holidays to be with family and friends.
The road skirts past several small towns and country settlements,
And snowdrifts piled up against various John Deere implements.
Family farmsteads tucked in close where the cold north wind doesn't blow,
Across the winter wheat fields lying dormant under a vast quilt of snow.
Worn out ties and rusty rails, the tracks of a vanished line,
And old bleach bottles on barbed wire, the farmer's compass by design.
Sorrels and chestnuts winter up in the barn over at the quarter horse ranch.
And the snow-capped butte rises high above snow-blown fertile flats.
For this prodigal daughter returning home, these landmarks are a welcome sight,
And the "big red clock" on my hometown hill, a beacon in the night.
Tho the cobblestones are paved and the Christmas decorations have changed,
(They say that change is good)
It's tradition that brings me home this Christmas,
"Over the river and through the wood."


* de - dec 1996

Christmas 1996 – Tradition
Christmas_1997
Christmas_1998
Christmas 1999 - Dear Santa
Christmas 2000
Christmas Eve Visit - 2001
Christmas 2002 - Snowman
Christmas 2003 - Home for Christmas
Christmas 2004 - The Thank You Letter
Christmas 2005 - Scrooge
Christmas Box - 2006
Christmas Memories - 2007
Christmas - 2008
Christmas - 2009
Christmas Bazaar - 2010
Christmas Horse - 2011
Christmas 2012 - The Old Post Office
Christmas 2013
Christmas 2014
Family Christmas_2015
Christmas 2016
Christmas 2017
Christmas 2018
Christmas_2019
Christmas_2020
Christmas_2021