Festive season, is it? The croaks and chrips I hear each night remain neutral, lights are plain as any other season. If there is one difference, I suppose it is the frozen stagnation of life here now that everybody has gone home. Hours of the day curve before the valley, passing, glinting before my glazed eyes, leaving behind those who are congealed in the resin of perceived time.
Bells are singing jingles in my head and I think of red noses, brown antlers, and a home with a furnace surrounded by a flurry of winter air. If I listen close enough, I can hear the splintered logs burning out. All the hearty celebration yet what I yearn for is to hear nothing. It is supposed to be a silent night, is it not?
That is past.
Now I want to share the warmth by the fire when it's freezing outside, but I wouldn't mind if you go with me to walk the dogs.
Time never stops those who revisit their memories. Maybe it should, for a more productive outcome.
In 10 years, I will tell you that wishes do come true, but for now, it is my reality that they do not. Only in retrospect can they be fulfilled.
Merry Christmas.
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