We walked into Christmas in the slow way that days do when you’re waiting. By five pm on Christmas Eve I could see the drag on my son’s face. I thought this time thing, it needs a new bus driver. Two weeks of crawl and the long long night-light shadows creeping into the hall from opposite bedrooms and criss-crossing like clock hands.
But once morning hit, we were hurtled… out of the bus. I felt the windscreen scrape my arm and then we were through, rolling rolling down the steep hill beyond, boulstered by immeasurable food and wrapping paper, glimpsing each other through the spinning storm of it.
flames hug wood in the fire pit the family’s scattered around we’re sometimes blinded by smoke
Written for Lisa’s dVerse prompt