That wonderful texture and sound comes back,
the time my feet crunch upon a beaten track,
coupled with the rawness of fresh air,
that brushes passed my ginger hair,
though a treacherous path, the frost does make,
I take it as a test, to make sure I’m awake,
thus, steady is my stride, as I take it in,
that again I am embracing wintering.
That auspicious, unique smell returns,
in those giant cauldrons the sugar burns,
on a clear day I see those artificial clouds,
signifying it’s near for many merry crowds,
where the lights dance pretty upon the trees,
and where many wallets will become empty,
but the beet to me, means so much more,
it’s the aroma of the home, that I adore.