My eyes pop open in the darkness of pre-dawn,
a primal timer set in my brain,
one that began in my childhood,
or perhaps in my genes.
Even after all these years there is a magic to Christmas morning,
the air crackles with it
and I feel the ripples in time open to me
as Christmas mornings past flash by,
bringing tears and laughter and remembrance.
I quietly steal downstairs in the expectant quiet,
drawn like a magnet to the lights of the tree.
There are no toys under its fragrant boughs,
the stockings hung by the fire are empty,
but the Christmas Spirit is still here,
the wonder that I felt all those years ago takes hold once again,
the magic of Christmas alive and well,
and I am a child once again.