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barefoot across a late-night floor,

frigid air streams in, unopposed —

our front door fallen open —

winter letting itself inside

I shiver in the realization

there are those with so much less

than what we take for granted

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The bottom of the year, the end of the line on a long scroll of calendar.  Thirty-one days of ho, ho, ho’s and holly; yuletide fare and winter white.  Children growing ever more ecstatic as Christmas approaches.  Adults, some still young at heart, share in the glow of the holidays.  Others, not so much.  Disheartened and fatigued with the hustle and bustle, Scrooges among us grumble still.

Pay them no mind. We have more than eight inches of snow on the ground here in central Iowa. It’s beautiful, truly a winter wonderland, a feast for our eyes and world-weary spirits. Christmas lights up our neighborhoods. Holiday music triggers childhood memories and it’s easy to get caught up in the nostalgia of the season. TV fare soothes our psyches with classic favorite characters: Rudolph, Grinch, Ralphie and Elf.

I purchased a gorgeous copy of A Christmas Carol a few years ago. Last night, I started reading it, hoping to make this an annual tradition. Required reading in my ninth grade English class, the book made an impression, way, way too many years in the past. However, I’ve not read it since high school and decided a few weeks ago to read it in the month of December this year. The book is an illustrated version, nicely bound, and so far, a real joy to read. It’s fun to pore over the images, on nearly every page. It’s a shame I’ve not done this before now.

No matter. I’m enjoying it now just as I intend to enjoy the holiday season this year. Sometimes, I admit, I’ve been a bit of a Scrooge myself. My adult mantra has always been one foot in front of the other. Onward! For Christmas, now, likewise and ditto.

The child in me nods enthusiastically.

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first snow; I walk about twenty minutes

but quality over quantity; that’s what counts

eight inches of snow, with more still falling

there’s not much traffic on these unplowed streets;

the entire (lumpy, uneven) center — all to myself

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In January 2023, I logged in to a series of Zoom presentations via the Grant Wood Online Forum. Participants were encouraged to submit poems, limericks, art work and essays for the print publication of the Grant Wood Country Chronicle.

In response, I wrote an essay titled The Fun, Feel-Good Legacy of Grant Wood. I sent it off to the forum facilitator. Then promptly forgot all about it.

My mailbox was packed tight with the usual junk mail yesterday – and a large, manilla envelope which contained my copy of the Chronicle. An ekphrastic poem I’d written, and that essay had been published alongside a wealth of information about Grant Wood and other artists and persons of note in his circle at the time.

I’m happy to share the link with you here to access the PDF document. Certainly, I hope you’ll enjoy my essay as well as the works of others who contributed to this collaboration.

To locate the essay, run a document search of my full name, Julie Allyn Johnson or enter the essay title, shown above.

And, of course, I thank you very much!