Sales for Holiday Happiness

I open my eyes to the many sparkling tiny balls of light spread across the shape of the dark continent upon the ceiling. The evergreen limbs dance on the December wind on the quiet early morning street. My pens, one with a green glow, light up my dark writing and my upside down astronaut pen looks on, waiting for me to continue. Several days before Christmas, and well, you know the rest. Little shopping done. 

At first it seems like a task, but easing into it gives an eventual pleasing feeling of good tidings to all. I do enjoy the giving more than receiving. 5:44 and all is well. Time is endless for space and itself. Yet each word written ties across a life, my life, in a hopefully constant heartbeat into many more holidays with family and friends. The spirits we all are surrounded by return to guide me into another gift of a day in a life.

No stars at night to speak of, the universe we share in the distance. Even Santa is breathless in thought of that trip. Waking with the morning news and coffee is so routine. I start with light yoga, stretching and breathing.

—

When was the last time you borrowed a cup of sugar from a neighbor? Take back America. There is no one else accountable for my sins but me. The white nose fungus is killing the bat population. Dave Brubeck was cool in the fifties. He died this year, still cool. Where do all the sounds of the departed depart to? Mysteries never solved.
—

Chatelaine (piece of Victorian jewelry)

Lines of frosty condensate march down the window pane year after year. And just beyond the tree of a hundred faces, smiles drenched in the golden early sun.

The day is surrounded by the cold of Christmas air. And stepping out of doors, I get ready to ride life's mechanical bull. The TV never stops filling my ear with sales for holiday happiness and fast-talking politicians beating each other's choices into the ground.