It was here.  I could feel it.

But what was there to be happy about?  A few ohs and ahs then nothing for another year.  So what if every passing year it seemed to come a little sooner; it was never soon enough and gone before I knew it.

Still I sat, still I waited with bated breath, Christmas.

It seeped into the air the icy chill, a promise of snow to come, perfumed with peppermint and gingerbread.  Small things I know, only noticed fleetingly, but they were mine, and they made it all so real.  Brought everything back so vividly the opaque layers of memory building one upon the other in bright flashes which makes everything dull in comparison.

I hear the seasonal sounds reverberate through me.  Not just the old Christmas standards being sung or hummed but so much more.  Beautiful lines from classical holiday movies, the bubble and spark of laughter to the more modern Christmas tails, soft sighs of contentment from enveloping oneself in the familiar, and almost silent the gentle fall of snow.  So soft through the window it can only be heard in the small hours of the morning before the winter sun starts the brave birds chirping and the hanging ice to dripping.  But it is there.

The colors, all my memories I see through a haze of green pine, twinkle lights, and reflective paper.  Why is it that Christmas comes in so many colors?  Never a drab tan, or boring white instead it dazzles in gold and silver, enlivens traditions in crimson and hunter, or blazes a new trail in ice blue or royal purple.  The color of this season rivals the simple beauty outside the window pane, standing out in the night in stark contrast to the all too often gray sky heavy with un-freed snow angels and men.

Your hand upon me gives me purpose makes me feel special.  It is perhaps this touch I wait for the most.  A deliciously bittersweet moment when I am simultaneously desired and yet begin the count down till the season passes.  For at that moment all stands still blinking in my eye.  Your smile makes the tarnish disappear leaving only a clear raw second of Christmas.  It isn’t perfect, it would not be all that it is if it were, but only then can I reflect the true joy of this my Christmas.  So close your eyes and hold your breath allow the wonderment in, and even if only for a heartbeat let the possibility of belief roll through you as you hit the switch.  Let me watch you from my perch as you take in the spirit of the season for it is that glow which keeps me warm the whole year through till you hang me high again.

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