The air directly below
is filled with peace: green, light, expectant.
For an inch of silence
is free to breath and hope.
Drip, glance, drop down to
of the gap: wide open, slowly approaching what's below.
There's a flutter and giggle --
are piqued and hesitant.
Where the space ends atop
of two sweet marrieds: one gray, one white.
A falling, a spilling, a moving --
meet miles below the mistletoe.
That familiar softness tells
that time is nothing to fear.
Down and down
lock around fingers and plain, solid rings.
In waves around this love
of family whistles and shouts:
Mother and Father -- debuting
underneath the mistletoe once more.
This poem (of sorts...) was inspired by today's prompt at Bigger Picture Blogs, and by my grandparents. Each year, in front of their brightly decorated Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, with the entire extended family watching and cheering -- a tradition unfolded. They'd stand and kiss: Grandpa would dip Grandma back in a swoon-worthy kiss of old-school romance. So, not exactly underneath the mistletoe, but...they didn't need it :) Their love was -- continues to be -- inspiring.
What will your inspiration be? Link up with 'Twas the Write Before Christmas!