by Michael Escoubas
The aroma of home is in the air,
puffs its pungent scent as rabbits
leave paw prints in soft, sifting snow.
the tree line is dressed in a gown
of purple chiffon trimmed in orange.
I scrape frost with
my fingernails from the windowpane.
Boughs of snow-covered pines bend
the season’s weight as naked oaks
endure the cold. Corn-stubble hides
the ring-necked pheasant
from peril of hunters and bird dogs.
Today I rise to burbles of percolating
coffee, bacon grease
popping; I look from my window,
snow is falling, children laughing,
on sleds, delirious on Christmas day.