Cold, damp and foggy around the pond today. The eight inches of beautiful snow that fell a week ago has melted. Gone. Given way to a night of rain and soggy leftovers. The local critters have retreated to the warmth of their winter homes. The fish slumber in the dark at the bottom of the pond. And the birds are flying on instruments. December.
So where are the chestnuts roasting on an open fire? The ten maids a-milking? The right jolly old elf? The holly? I guess they’ll have to rest in our childhood imaginations for now. While visions of sugar plumbs dance in our wee little heads. Delicious anticipation. The best part of the Holidays. And, I guess, of many things.
But now that I think about it, we can’t live in a constant state of anticipation, can we? Not much wrong with the warm here and now. If we’re fortunate enough to have it. I think of the homeless. Those who will sleep on a bench in some cold, dark, dangerous place tonight. A newspaper for a blanket. I hope some kind soul finds them. Gives them a warm bed and a hot meal. I hope they find peace. And a better life.
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