The holidays arrive like a long-lost friend,
their arms heavy with the weight of memory.
In kitchens alive with the clatter of tradition,
flour dusts the air like first snow—
each recipe a love letter,
each cookie a time capsule.
*
Laughter spills over crowded tables,
filling the spaces between us,
binding us tighter than ribbon
wrapped around the presents.
The presence—
The scent of pine mingles with cinnamon,
and somewhere in the hum of voices,
we find the echoes of those
we can only hold in our hearts
and not our hands.
*
Beyond frosted windows, the world
wears its quiet like a quilt—
snow falling soft and slow.
We gather closer, drawn to the hearth’s glow.
*
Ornaments catch the firelight—
each one an ode to another time.
Little hands press eagerly
into the present moment,
while older fingers linger,
knowing how swiftly time fades.
*
In the crinkle of wrapping paper,
in the twinkle of lights reflected,
We find those moments that we unwrap each year,
And rejoice in our collection.
About the Creator
E.K. Daniels
Writer, watercolorist, and regular at the restaurant at the end of the universe. Twitter @inkladen
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insight
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions

Comments (2)
Oh wow. I love the line about holding people in our hearts because we can't hold their hands. Just gorgeous.
Laughter spills over crowded table. - Nicely Done!!