As always when the old house creaks into quiet, I snuff the
Christmas candles, and check to be sure nobody has left a turkey bone where the Irish
could get it. The colored ribbon and tissues are swept up, the fire has died down, and I
let the cockers and Irish out for a last run in the new - fallen snow. They take nips of
it, roll in it.
And now as
always, I have a special reunion with my Honey, a golden cocker who died a time ago. I
hear her paws softly padding beside me as I put the house to bed. I can see her golden
feather of tail wagging happily. Some might say this is foolish for she was, after all,
only a dog, and she is dead. But the fourteen years of love and loyalty she gave me are
very much alive as I say "Good night, Honey."
The house talks,
as old houses do. A beam settles. A chair rocks. A floor creaks with unseen footsteps. I
like this, for it reminds me of all the lives that have been lived under this roof, and I
feel their friendly presence as I poke the embers. Christmas is over. It is time to burn
the wrappings, write the thank - you notes, return the calls, set the house in order for
the New Year. It is also time to consider where our lives are bound, what purpose steadies
our course. How much have we helped our fellow men this year, and what good have we
accomplished? Has the world been better because we were in it? If Christmas means
anything, it means good will to all. I doubt many of us can truly live up to that, but we
can try again.
As I let the dogs
back in, I smell the snow. The walk is silver, the picket fence wears pointed caps. night
herself is luminous with the falling snow. A flurry comes in with the dogs and melts on
the wide floor boards. No two snowflakes, I am told, are exactly alike and this is a
mystery. Now the intricate shapes are gone, and only a spot of water remains. It is not
very practical to stand in the open door at midnight and let the snow blow in. But
it has been my habit for years to close Christmas day just so, sending my blessing
out to all the people in the world, those I know well and love greatly, and those I shall
never see. As I close the door, I repeat again my Christmas Blessing.
"God rest you
merry, gentlemen."
Stillmeadow Sampler
I got the idea for
this painting from the original illustration by Edward Shenton in the book,
Stillmeadow Sampler .
 Return to Page One of Christmas at
Stillmeadow
Or,
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Stillmeadow
Gladys Taber: Page 1 / Gladys Taber: Page 2
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Webpage design by Susan Stanley
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I created the Stillmeadow
painting especially for this site.
Please do not take.
Copyright © 1997, 1998. Susan Stanley.
(I did not make the bells,
bird line, red bow tree, holly, cardinals or the
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