It’s December. There’s a difference in the morning light in December. The mornings are now wintry pale with pastel pinks and blues. The Chesapeake Bay gleams metallically, looking cold. But it’s beautiful in a pristine way, devoid of boaters and pleasure seekers. Even the bird community has flown away in the December chill.
December. It means another year has almost passed. As I age, I treasure the good memories of the holidays – of the warm, rich times with friends and family. Christmastime has always been magical for me. I’ve always been enchanted by first snows, looking for a Christmas tree with a bird’s nest, decorating, beautiful lights, and always the hope of the magic coming on Christmas morning. Over the years, some have worked to steal my joy and excitement about the holidays. Some years, it’s been severely dampened, and it makes me sad that they have chosen to hurt my excitement. My melancholy also comes from missing family and friends who are now gone.
But, I continue to hope. I am grateful for my rich and full life. I’m so very lucky. And, although some of my Christmas spirit has been hampered, the excitement is still lying in embers, waiting for Gene Autry to sing about Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, or for me to gasp in delight at gorgeous light displays, or the quiet magic of the first snow. I hope I never lose the magic. I need to work at bringing it back this year. It’s there, waiting for the small flames to be stirred, because December holidays – each and every one- are magical.
To quote from Fra Giovanni’s Christmas poem, “The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet within our reach is joy. Take Joy!”
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
