This December night.

I wish I could capture this essence for you, to share with you my Christmas joy, and the way I smile when I walk though I walk alone. I wish I could share this with you — the sweet sound of a saxophone and intimate chatter and the laugh of friends and lovers as I walk, walk through the cold that is not too cold, but just cold enough to remind me it’s December.

The sky is beautiful tonight. It’s clear, so I can see the stars and airplanes. And I do. I watch them. I watch the planes and wonder where they’re going and dream I am going there too. And I watch the stars. I see them. I see their greatness and I understand their feelings of insignificance. Just stars without names among a billion other stars without names, all trekking trillions of miles to shine for me, but they will never know me either, for I am only one of billions who think these stars shine for them too. Tonight, here in this place, the stars are nearly forgotten as they are drowned out by these lights, a string of glowing balls whose childlike gleam dances with the saxophone.

I breath in the cold, dry air, I close my eyes, and I smile. I want to remember this — this seemingly small joy that is nothing small at all. I feel it in the deepest part of who I am; I feel it from my fingers, through my lungs, and down to my toes. It is peace. It is goodness. It is joy, and love, and happiness. It is the knowledge of others’ joy overwhelming my heart.

I sing Christmas songs under my breath. Have yourself a merry little Christmas, I whisper to the stars. O come let us adore him, I beckon to the wind. The rustling of bags, full of surprises; the clicking of a woman’s heels as she hurries to finish errands after a long day of work; the eagerness of a child, pulling his mother’s arm in the direction of the long line for an old man in a red suit — they sing with me. The sounds of Christmas ring in my ears as my song goes on, unheard and unnoticed by those who are caught up in their own joys. Yet I am joyful. I treasure these things in my heart, quietly, and I keep on walking, accompanied by the gleam of this December night.

I am satisfied here, though I wish I could share this with you — the way my face lights up when I hear my Christmas song, and the way my heart soars when I think about the Christmases to come. Someday I’ll share this with you, but until then, whoever you are, wherever you are tonight, I pray you know a piece of this joy too.

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One thought on “This December night.

  1. You may have forgotten about this post, but I haven’t forgotten. I remember the night that you wrote it. It was a crisp Sunday night in December. You were sitting at the kitchen table, busily typing this piece of prose out. I chimed in and said, “Hey, are ya ready to go yet?” You quickly replied, “Almost! I gotta finish this blog post up! I think it’s the some of the best stuff I’ve written in a long time!” … or something along those lines. I simply loved how you grinned at the thought of what you were perfecting. We then got to take a little stroll up to Sunday night church, and just talk about life. love. aspirations. I love to hear your dreams and how they are becoming reality. I am so proud of you, and the young lady you are growing up to be. I could not be more proud of my little sister. I truly cherish our relationship that we have. Oh, and this is an outstanding piece of writing here! I loved it when I went back to read it. I love you so much sis! These are some thoughts that have been simmering around for awhile, and I just didn’t know how to say it.

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