Comfort

This morning in Honey Hill Country, the air feels different — softer somehow — as if the whole hollow has agreed to speak in a whisper. There is wood smoke lingering in the distance, a hush on the porch boards, and that rare kind of quiet that does not feel empty. It feels held.

Somewhere, a kettle is warming. Somewhere else, a pan of cinnamon rolls is nearly ready for the oven. Orange juice is being poured, chairs are being pulled close, and the day is just beginning to stretch awake.

And before the hours fill themselves with meals and messages, memories and visiting, Little Red Bear and I wanted to leave a small Christmas Blessing here — simple, neighbourly, and meant to be kept.

May your Christmas morning find you welcomed, whether your house is full of laughter and wrapping paper, or wrapped instead in a gentler quiet. Some folks wake today to stockings and noise and the happy clatter of family traditions. Others wake to softer rooms — and the quiet is not always easy.

So let this blessing be for both kinds of mornings.

For the full tables, and for the empty chairs.
For the hearts that feel light today, and for the ones doing their best just to carry kindness forward.
For joy that arrives easily — and for joy that must be noticed in smaller, braver ways.

May warmth find you today — in your kitchen, in your memories, or simply in the knowledge that you are not forgotten. May peace rest easy in your home, even if only for a moment at a time. And may the love that Christmas promises — quietly, faithfully, year after year — feel close enough to touch.

Little Red Bear padded in long enough to add this, and he insists it be included —

“If your heart feels full today, share it.
If it feels a little tender, guard it gently.
And either way — you belong at the table.”

From our little corner of Honey Hill Country to yours, we wish you a Christmas filled with warmth, grace, and the comfort of being held — by memory, by love, and by hope that still knows the way home.

— Jim (and Red!)

May warmth find your door, light fill your window, and peace know your name — this Christmas and always.

Merry Christmas.

A Christmastime Poem from Honey Hill Country

There’s something about this time of year, isn’t there? When the evenings grow still, the air turns crisp, and the world seems to lean just a little closer to the heart. Christmas has a way of stirring memories long tucked away — quiet moments, warm gatherings, and the gentle light of home.

As we move through December together, I thought I’d share a little holiday verse from Honey Hill Country — a simple reminder that Christmas isn’t found in the rush or the noise, but in the places and people who help us feel rooted. Perhaps you’ve known that feeling, too?

Please enjoy this Christmastime moment from Little Red Bear’s world.

“Christmas Lives On Honey Hill”

The moonlight drifts through the walnut trees,
Soft silver on Honey Hill,
And something familiar keeps whispering there
In the quiet, deep, and still.

Down in the towns the lamplights glow,
And wagons roll through the square —
But my heart keeps turning to holler paths
And to all my friends who gather there.

For Christmas lives in these winding woods,
Where the creek runs slow and mild,
And stories rise like chimney smoke
From every home-bound child.

I’ve walked through cities dressed in lights,
And felt the winter’s bite —
But nothing warms a wanderer’s heart
Like a hearth fire burning bright.

So, I’m heading back through the frosted pines,
Where the evenings smell of tea,
Where Little Red Bear keeps an extra chair
At the table — just for me.

Where neighbors stray in two by two,
Old tales are passed around,
And laughter spills like fiddle tunes
Across the snowy ground.

Where the young and old lean shoulder-close
As the carols rise and fall,
The golden glow of candle lanterns
Shining hope for one and all.

And I’ll remember those gone on ahead,
Their love still here to guide me —
For love still lingers in these hills,
And guides my spirit home.

Yes — Christmas lives on Honey Hill,
In every heart and hand.
A place where the season’s truest gifts
Are easy to understand.

So let the moonlight drift through the walnut trees —
It knows where I long to be —
Back among friends in the quiet holler,
Where Christmas comes gentle and free.

Thank you for sharing a few quiet December moments with me today. Isn’t it comforting how a simple poem can call up warm memories when we least expect it? Wherever you may be this season, I hope a little Honey Hill spirit finds its way to your home and heart.

— Jim (and Red!)

If this poem brought a little warmth or comfort your way, I’d be honored if you shared it with someone who might need the same.

And this Saturday, I will be sharing a brand-new Little Red Bear Christmas vignette — “The Lantern in Clara Thimblewick’s Window.” It is a gentle story of light, kindness, and the spirit of the season. I hope you’ll drop in and join us for it.

Pen-and-ink illustrations created with the assistance of AI and lovingly styled for Little Red Bear Land.

James Milson – The Writing Pages

May All Who Enter As Guests, Leave As Friends — Because Together We Can Do So Much!

A Christmas Blessing from Honey Hill Country

“Christmas Lives On Honey Hill”

A Christmastime Poem from Honey Hill Country

“Christmas Lives On Honey Hill”

The moonlight drifts through the walnut trees,
Soft silver on Honey Hill,
And something familiar keeps whispering there
In the quiet, deep, and still.

Down in the towns the lamplights glow,
And wagons roll through the square —
But my heart keeps turning to holler paths
And to all my friends who gather there.

For Christmas lives in these winding woods,
Where the creek runs slow and mild,
And stories rise like chimney smoke
From every home-bound child.

I’ve walked through cities dressed in lights,
And felt the winter’s bite —
But nothing warms a wanderer’s heart
Like a hearth fire burning bright.

So, I’m heading back through the frosted pines,
Where the evenings smell of tea,
Where Little Red Bear keeps an extra chair
At the table — just for me.

Where neighbors stray in two by two,
Old tales are passed around,
And laughter spills like fiddle tunes
Across the snowy ground.

Where the young and old lean shoulder-close
As the carols rise and fall,
The golden glow of candle lanterns
Shining hope for one and all.

And I’ll remember those gone on ahead,
Their love still here to guide me —
For love still lingers in these hills,
And guides my spirit home.

Yes — Christmas lives on Honey Hill,
In every heart and hand.
A place where the season’s truest gifts
Are easy to understand.

So let the moonlight drift through the walnut trees —
It knows where I long to be —
Back among friends in the quiet holler,
Where Christmas comes gentle and free.

Share this:

A Christmastime Poem from Honey Hill Country

“Christmas Lives On Honey Hill”

The moonlight drifts through the walnut trees, Soft silver on Honey Hill, And something familiar keeps whispering there In the quiet, deep, and still.

Down in the towns the lamplights glow, And wagons roll through the square — But my heart keeps turning to holler paths And to all my friends who gather there.

For Christmas lives in these winding woods, Where the creek runs slow and mild, And stories rise like chimney smoke From every home-bound child.

I’ve walked through cities dressed in lights, And felt the winter’s bite — But nothing warms a wanderer’s heart Like a hearth fire burning bright.

So, I’m heading back through the frosted pines, Where the evenings smell of tea, Where Little Red Bear keeps an extra chair At the table — just for me.

Where neighbors stray in two by two, Old tales are passed around, And laughter spills like fiddle tunes Across the snowy ground.

Where the young and old lean shoulder-close As the carols rise and fall, The golden glow of candle lanterns Shining hope for one and all.

And I’ll remember those gone on ahead, Their love still here to guide me — For love still lingers in these hills, And guides my spirit home.

Yes — Christmas lives on Honey Hill, In every heart and hand. A place where the season’s truest gifts Are easy to understand.

So let the moonlight drift through the walnut trees — It knows where I long to be — Back among friends in the quiet holler, Where Christmas comes gentle and free.

Share this:

The moonlight drifts through the walnut trees,
Soft silver on Honey Hill,
And something familiar keeps whispering there
In the quiet, deep, and still.

Down in the towns the lamplights glow,
And wagons roll through the square —
But my heart keeps turning to holler paths
And to all my friends who gather there.

For Christmas lives in these winding woods,
Where the creek runs slow and mild,
And stories rise like chimney smoke
From every home-bound child.

I’ve walked through cities dressed in lights,
And felt the winter’s bite —
But nothing warms a wanderer’s heart
Like a hearth fire burning bright.

So, I’m heading back through the frosted pines,
Where the evenings smell of tea,
Where Little Red Bear keeps an extra chair
At the table — just for me.

Where neighbors stray in two by two,
Old tales are passed around,
And laughter spills like fiddle tunes
Across the snowy ground.

Where the young and old lean shoulder-close
As the carols rise and fall,
The golden glow of candle lanterns
Shining hope for one and all.

And I’ll remember those gone on ahead,
Their love still here to guide me —
For love still lingers in these hills,
And guides my spirit home.

Yes — Christmas lives on Honey Hill,
In every heart and hand.
A place where the season’s truest gifts
Are easy to understand.

So let the moonlight drift through the walnut trees —
It knows where I long to be —
Back among friends in the quiet holler,
Where Christmas comes gentle and free.