Christmas in Tasmania

This poem was prompted by the poem Hugh wrote that I read this morning, got me thinking what signals Christmas to me.

Raspberries and Strawberries,
picked fresh from the bush,
the smell of fresh cut hay,
on a summers evening hush.

A thunderstorm with lightning,
flashing in the dark,
the mouth-watering aroma ,
wafting from bbq’s in the park.

All of this says Christmas,
in the place that I call home,
my island state of Oz land,
what means Christmas where you’re from?

© ceenoa