This Christmas series is brought to you thanks to Book Riot’s Literary Advent Calendar. It’s a combination of poetry, short stories, and essays. I’ll be posting every day, some days twice to keep up with my regular posts. Click the story title for the full text. Now, let’s get this Christmas show on the road!
After an intense weekend and lacking sleep, what did I do as soon as I was done with work? I came home, changed, and went out again. I got home a little bit ago and, not gonna lie, I had a blast. It is entirely possible that I’m a little tipsy right now, but that’s just proof that I enjoyed myself, right? Either way, I’m here, dutifully writing all my thoughts for you. I should probably apologize for that.
I should also probably apologize about the fact that all I’m getting from the poem is snow. Or rather, that I’m hungry and tired and tipsy and all I’m choosing to see is snow. How he thrusts his hands into it and comes up with memory, like the whiteness all blends together to form a passage through the years. Snow falls and every Christmas is white. And from every snowflake emerges a new memory. This one, surprisingly, of fire. I’m always a sucker for imagery. For words that place you somewhere so specific you can’t help but be there. This poem does that for me, lulling me into feeling like I’m reading prose it gifts me with interesting imagery.
I’m probably not reading this properly. How about tomorrow I give you a better take on it? It’ll do you more justice.
In any case, I hope you guys have had a lovely weekend. See you tomorrow, folks.