It's quiet here.
Across the street, the one-bedroom apartment dwellers have fled to more populous climes. The parking lot of Target, this morning spasming with cars, has begun to unclench. And yesterday's thunderstorms blew overnight to the east, although the air left behind still feels, for December, like breath against our skin.
Perched, for the moment, in our new home, we've opened our gifts to one another- some thoughtful, some pointed, some exhilaratingly pointless. We've labored over bread, guzzled good coffee, and accidentally butt-dialed the landlord. We've done all the things you ought to do when you seek to mark a day but one of you isn't sure why, or how.
Happy Christmas Eve. May your day be quiet -and light.