Heedless of the Wind and Weather
I fell asleep last night with Perry Como singing to me from a distance. There's no place like home for the holidays he whispered. He is right and he is a liar. I didn't know whether I should embrace him or punch him in the mouth. My pillow demanded neither.
Christmas is here and it is too fast, too soon, and all but a glorious blur of a speed bump on this road we travel. I mourn its nearness.
I will see people I care about and those I miss. I will say hello and goodbye and years will pass and lines will grow where once wore smiles. Twinkling eyes will drain into riverbeds of crow's feet. It is but a moment. Christmas shines brightest against the shadows of the lives we've led.
There is a fireplace somewhere with room to sit and songs and gifts of laughter. There are cold alleys and bottles of tears between the streets that I'll walk to get there. I am happy though I don't feel it. I am warm though it is cold outside.
I once lost myself in pine and mistletoe. Now I find others. I have gone from rat to piper and my children dance in my step.
It is Christmas time and their joy is a neighbor's house covered in lights, and their happiness is a home for the holidays that there's no place like.
Merry Christmas, my friends. Drink deep from its cup.