Housewarming In my dream I was the first to arrive at the old home from church. Wind and night had forced through the cracks. I pushed inside, turned on lamps, lit a fire in the stove. Frozen oak logs stung my fingers; it was good pain, my hands reddening on the icy broom-handle as I swept away snow. On Christmas eve, I prepared a warm place for my mother and father, sister and brothers, grandparents, all my relatives, none dead, none missing, none angry with another, all coming through the woods.
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