Bluest skies are o'er us shining,
Not a snowdrift anywhere
Frosty nights and dazzling mornings,
Zippy sparkle in the air.
Far away the tops of mountains
Whitely gleam beneath the sun,
While below, to join their fellows,
Dancing little streamlets run.
But down here amid the valleys
Fresh-plowed fields lie rich and black,
Save where sheen of emerald glistens
Where the grain is coming back.
In the hills the toyon berries
Flash their scarlet 'mid the green,---
California's brilliant holly,
Always loved where'er 'tis seen.
In the gardens still are blossoms,
Laggard roses still are sweet;
And, as first of spring's forerunners,
Here and there a primrose neat.
Not the Christmas of tradition,
Icy winds and glistening snow,
Yet the soul of Christmas finds us
Here where gentler breezes blow.
--Edith Granger Hawkes
League of American Pen Women, Sonoma County Branch Bulletin, December 1928 or 1927, page 9