all i want for christmas

christmas, christmas tree, christmas lights, e e cummings“and looking up at our beautiful tree

we’ll dance and sing

‘Noel Noel’

I am reusing a photo of our Christmas lights from last year, and the piece of poem that attached itself to them.   This is fitting, I think, as so very much the heart of the holidays lives in those things that stay the same, year after year.

Anticipation is a beautiful thing.

Fulfilment, a comfort.

Twinkling lights in the dark living room, breathing magic into the home, they will always call to me, draw me in.  I can barely make myself leave at bedtime, longing to stay and sleep right there by the light and the fire.  Like a beacon, these lights.  They fill me me up and all I want to do is somehow wrap up all that is good in this world, the seemingly perfect love I imagine that these lights represent, and pour it into the hearts of everyone, everywhere.

Instead, feeling both hope and loss, I content myself with my own bathing in the light, on each of these December nights, until I know, soon, I will burst.

Yes, into song of the Christmas type.  Into jolly, silly dancing with my children.  Making merry, yes!  I have a magic tree with magic, twinkling lights, what else can I do?

But in the quiet evenings, I can’t help but also feel full to bursting with wonder at this–the dark side of being alive, the hurting and the sorrow?

It feels wildly unfair, and such a holiday of wild abandon reminds me of this all the more.  If only the fairy tale were true, I think.  If only, the babe really were a miracle.

If only peace on earth, goodwill toward men were the gift blanketed on us all this December 25th, I would gladly give up my sweet holiday traditions.

I would never ask for another Christmas tree again.

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