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Christmas

These people bring in peanut brittle

that won a blue ribbon

in a county fair once,


And fudge

from a recipe

that’s been in the family

for generations.


Cookies

that are there oldest grandsons

favorite.


They bring in poppyseed bread

that their one armed husband

helped them bake.


One of these men

brought me a book

wrapped in christmas wrapping paper,

and had a nice string tied on it.


It was ‘A History Of Western Philosophy’

by Bertrand Russell.


His favorite book,

he said.


I had already listened

to the audiobook,

but daydreamed through most of it.


He had recommended it to me back then,

and I had told him

when I was finally done listening to it,

that I needed to go back and read it some day;

because I missed so much of it

daydreaming about a woman–

or imagining winning a fight.


Well here was the book.


He had remembered me saying that 7 months ago,

and now,

here it was,

as a gift.


‘They had to custom order that at the bookstore!’


He said.


‘Not a single copy in this town!.’


He was smiling.


‘I was afraid it wouldn’t come in time!’


I smiled at him.


‘Must’ve been a Christmas miracle then.’




-C.H.

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