I don’t pretend to be smart. There’s much in this world I don’t understand and can’t explain, especially physics, that’s way out of my league. But I am alert and somewhat observant, perfectly capable of noticing the real, everyday stuff of life. I can, in fact, distinguish reality from fantasy in a heartbeat.
And there’s something very mysterious about Christmas, almost otherworldly. It begins very late on Christmas Eve, when all eyes — even the cynical, old-enough-to-know-better eyes — search for the silhouette of Santa’s sleigh among the stars. In those moments, a still, mystical quiet seems to have settled over the sleeping world.
The air is brittle with cold. There’s no traffic. No human activity. No sound at all. The world consists only of moonlight and stars and, most implausible of all, hope. I’m not kidding. Outside, in the silent, peaceful darkness of Christmas Eve, hope becomes as real as the ground I stand on. It sends a chill through me and it’s not from the cold.
Then Christmas morning arrives and I discover Santa was a no-show. Again! Yet, the magic and the wonder linger. Those, my friends, are the greatest gifts of Christmas. Let’s hold on to them forever.
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