Written for Word Of The Day Challenge: Reflect
With apologies to the oft-disputed author of ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas
It's a dim little Christmas we're having this year, stranded from family and friends we hold dear. Factions are splattered all over the place, there is fear and denial, ragr and bad grace. World leaders sit haggard on prickly fence while scientists struggle to make them see sense. Conspiracy geeks prittle predictable prattle and the papers continue to treat us like cattle. Mother is shielding and father is fraught by the dreadful cost of the gifts that he bought. Business is failing, his debts are a-growing, since Covid put paid to the seeds he was sowing. His children are sleeping in confident bliss faithfully dreaming of generous gifts. Santa has packed up his sleigh with great care, he's padlocked his storehouse and fed his reindeer. He's flying up high on his usual rounds; although visits are tricky, he won't let us down. Since rulings preclude him from entering chimneys he drops down the presents and flies away nimbly, with a groan in his throat and a tear in his eye; he'd be glad of a drink or a lovely mince pie, to fill his fat belly and give his heart ease - but he cannot risk catching a nasty disease. As he smoothly directs his crew through the air, he's pleased to be giving but filled with despair. He reflects that it's been a difficult year: There's lots of goodwill, but damn little cheer.
©Jane Paterson Basil
