Lights

Every year I end up, at least once, sitting alone in the dark with the Christmas tree. I should go to bed earlier, but it is one of my favorite moments of the year. The lights are beautiful, and the house is quiet, and I can think.

Some years I write. This year, my journal is too far away, off downstairs, but Webster is right here, and so I am writing here.

Every year I wonder what will be different the next time I sit in the dark with the Christmas lights, and what will be the same.

I am wondering that right now.