A Feast for the Senses

A prime rib as big as my Christmas tree
Slight exaggeration, but an appropriate one;
Lies in a bed of individual yorkshire puddings,
Awaiting their blanket of brown savory gravy.

Bright orange carrots with a sugary glaze,
Peas as a contrast shine like delicate green jewels.
Jellied cranberries glisten in their intricate glass bowl,
While three year old Brighton resists the urge to dip his fingers.

A brilliant array of colors dazzles from the fruit salad,
While the warm French bread sits nestled in its blanket of linen,
Awaiting its merge with the soft creamy butter,
And the contented sigh that comes with the first bite.

Grandpa Dick pours the special edition Cabernet,
Brought lovingly from the Sonoma Valley,
Still smelling of Oak and magical grape vines.
It swirls in the crystal glass, his hand now master of its fate.

A fog of anticipation covers us all,
As we settle into our chairs for a long winter's feast.
Wrapped in our secure love for this place, time and each other,
Nourished by the energy of the season, as well as by this food.