The ornaments still adorn the tree. The stockings still march across the top of the bookcase, sagging and empty in the aftermath of four hurricanes that hit.
The ham’s still cooling in the fridge. As fresh coffee hits my cup, holiday happiness fills my heart in a wave that radiates down my left leg.
Wait. No. That’s shooting pain from the brand-new Legos I just stepped on. At least I’ve got Christmas joy as far as the waist, which is more than can be said of Someone Else who’s just waking up, judging by the no-coffee scowl beneath the tousled hair. If He Who is Only a Sniffer and Not a Sipper would just try it, perhaps he, too, could know the joy that floods. (Watch out for that Lego, hon.)
Anyway, as we stand on the threshold of a new year, our hearts are filled with hope anew. Dreams once dead now burn bright. Gazing across the snowy pages of time, untouched by pen and ink, all seems possible. And if I had any more overused, cliched sentiments, I’d use ‘em, but that’s all I’ve got.
