Papa, remember
when we’d leap into the pickup truck,
adventure already warming us,
even when the cold tried its best?
A different place each year,
no map needed🗺️
just snow beneath our boots
and our breath floating like ghosts
between the trees.
Somewhere above us
an owl kept winter’s secret,
its call stitching the quiet together
as we raced, laughing,
each sure we’d found the tree.
We watched with wide eyes
as you chopped down the winner,
then tied it tight in the truck bed,
making sure the wind
couldn’t steal it away
on the long ride home.
Back at the house,
we shook the snow from its branches,
hauled it upstairs with frozen fingers,
knowing warmth was waiting.
Mom’s hot chocolate steamed in our hands,
and the next night
we strung popcorn,
hung ornaments,
and stood back in awe.
What a glorious picture it became🤶
not just the tree,
but us.
Thank you, Papa,
for giving us Christmas,
and for giving us
memories that still glow. 🎄
The Writings of Felina Silver 
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