In December
Bitterness is swept from the corners.
The barnyard roosters stop flecking the
Snow with blood as vibrant as their feathers.
The sweetness of the season seeps
Into the courtyard.
Every third flagstone is broken.
The sugar is sickly to disguise the hate on your
Tongue.

In December even you learn how to taste
Anew.
Tradition is a universal language
Felt in the pockets of the Alps and the
Peaks of the Blue Ridge.
The good wishes are lost somewhere in
January
Carried away with the floods.

Jaya Avendel is a word witch from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, writing family into fantasy through poetry and prose. Her writing is published at Visual Verse, Spillwords Press, and is included in 'As The World Burns" Anthology from Indie Blu(e) Publishing. She shares her creative writing and publication news at ninchronicles.com