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dear christmas eve,

you were a little sunny today, i think, or those were the other days, last week, when i woke and the sky was a blue blast and the sun a whole bunch of shots blinding people unused to its presence. no, actually, i think you were today mostly gray, but to be honest i much prefer you gray than incredible in some spring or summer way, because, christmas eve, you're christmas eve, and if you can't be white i'd prefer you on the darker side, so to make the guts of houses cozier with their heat and holiday smells and people, oh the people.

christmas eve, the people were good this year. they bustled appropriately, and bundled against chill, and rode the trolly that ding-ding-dinged itself through the streets with foggy windows. they were thoughtful and some had tougher tasks than others, and some were more on top of it and some less so, but all of them were electric, and the energy was nice.

i have to say i wish i'd given a cow, or some books, or a toy or two or three. out here at the vineyard everyone put on their party hats and paraded through ideas and wrapping paper and twine and tissue.

christmas eve, if i may be so bold, may i ask for peace? not from the train, because i bet even trains get christmas eve off, and maybe even christmas day; and not from the hubub of people trying to make a little magic from an inexact potion and a sort of short fuse and maybe wet matches (but, dear c.e., we know these people are industrious, they know how to make fire from stone, the smack of two together, and probably have lint collected from the dryer or a frito and can use it to catch a spark and build a flame and create a heat that someone dear to them won't soon forget, will in fact jot down in his or her chest as the best christmas eve/christmas ever in the whole wide world so far); but peace like calm and a set aside of anger or unrest. a choice to accept rather than prescribe. a hope that no one is scared tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. for safety for all, because we all deserve that, and if we all had it all our lives then maybe our world that you're a part of tonight, christmas eve, would shape itself alittle differently. a little more kindly. a little more softly. a little more welcoming. a little like a hug.

there's a story i love to read. i can't tell it to you all the way but it's about a bear and all the hugs he gives. how he can't not hug as an answer to all problems. even when his life's problem is a logger come to chop his - the bear's - most favorite tree of all down. i have a favorite tree here. i see it every day i sit down to write and look out the window that abuts my desk. it is broad and bare and glows with moss in the gray, a fan of branches over field. in the summer, it's shade. in the winter, a kind of beacon. a little like a lighthouse, in that lighthouses mean saftey and to see one is to take care. this tree tells me take care, each time i look. in its peaceful feeling. its quiet majesty. and you better bet i look a lot.

so, christmas eve, dear christmas eve. take care. eat your cookies. watch for reindeer. tell hannukah hello and i'm sorry i missed it but i thought if it often. tell kwanza i look forward to seeing it and though we're unfamiliar i'd like to get to know it better. boxer day. boxer day. let it know i'll raise a pint in its honor. and to every other special day or eve, like every day of the year is some special day or eve for someone or something special, thank you. for always coming around. for never disappearing on any of us. for giving us a structure in which to grow.

sincerely yours,