Here All Along

Little by little, Christmas trees are disappearing from neighborhood windows, as well as lights along the eaves. Here and there a giant inflated Santa or Grinch still stands, lit from within and swollen from eating too much during the holidays. Rain-battered, wind-tattered, thought-scattered, sweet butter rum. Tethered to their post, these ghosts of Christmas past seem as haunted as Dickens, while inside, children wonder why Christmas must end. They remain unconvinced. More gifts! they cry. More fun! Then up comes the sun. The days circle by. The nights. Do you see their hands are joined? It’s such a fine dance, wise and methodical. Cakes and pies at Grandma’s house. Grandpa’s pipe and suspenders. Wood on the porch. And suddenly winter is gone — or is it under his hat? Or the cat on her lap? It must be seen to be believed, and once believed, it can no longer be seen. ’Tis the law of the ages. Look for yourself. Love comes at dawn. It was here all along. Ask any elf.

[ 2032 ]