My ninety six year old mother dozes in her chair. Her toast remains half eaten on the tray. The dog sleeps at her side.
Frost last night. Now bright morning sun streams through the windows. The refrigerator hums. Outside the gnarly cedar with its silvered bark shelters the house. When did it get so tall?
Memories – laughter, faces of loved ones, snatches of conversation, four dogs romping in the back yard, good food – play in the mind.
Today is Black Friday, the make or break retail sales day of the U.S. economy. Only twenty eight days until Christmas.
There is no rush here. No need to shop.
All is calm
All is bright
Round yon mother and dog.
Here in this old house on Madison Street, whatever it was we thought we needed to do has given way to the art of being – of watching the leaf shadows play on the trunk of the cedar, and peering long into the deep blue sky.
The mother dozes. The dog stirs, turns on his side. His breath is slow and deep.
The air is tender and mild. Nothing to disturb the flow of grace.
Relax. Christmas already came here a long time ago.
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I have four sleeping rescue kittens snuggled on my son’s pirate themed sleeping bag. Yes, there is room. Yes, there is welcome. Yes. Christmas comes whenever we say “Yes.”