Absolute Proof

    I strategically place glittery footprints

indicating Santa’s route 

from the mantel 

where bulging stockings hang

to the gifts 

placed beneath the evergreen boughs.

   I nibble Santa’s cookies,

 drink his milk.

   With proof of Santa’s existence assured,

 I wait,

for Christmas to dawn.

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Short Haiku

tiny then petite

best things in small packages

miniature blessings

Inspired by the prompt at

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Let's Go Again!

 
    Unprepared for the explosion of force that propelled me 420 feet skyward at a dizzying 120 miles per hour, 

I white knuckled the restraints screaming.  

Plummeting back to earth seemed terrifyingly faster.  

 I saw God.  

Then, 

I shit myself...

like a boss.

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