Before Christmas

It’s supposed to start snowing right about now. When I wake up, the white blanket of soft water should cover all the earthy and vulgar that tread under my feet on my morning stroll to work. Snow’s late this year, forgot to descend, was probably busy filling the world’s reservoirs and flood plains somewhere far away. It’s at least cold here. Is it cold where you are? I can imagine a brownish, greyish, blackish Christmas, but not a sunny, yellow, changeless Christmas. It’s most definitely just a case of what you grew up with and therefore denote as normal. Snow covered whiteness is normal for me at Christmas. Bitter cold is normal for me at Christmas. Frozen sidewalks and bus stops are normal for me at Christmas. Angels, Jesus, glitter, lights, smells of freshly cut pine trees, coats oozing the distinct odour of naphthalene balls: these things are normal for me at Christmas. A sense of peace and happiness are what feel normal to me at Christmas.

Can you remember the last time you noticed a perfect ending to an almost perfect day? Of course perfection isn’t always the answer, but near perfect is attainable and through that, near happy must linger somewhere low enough to be reached. It must. Just before Christmas people turn a little crazy. They give themselves a doze of intolerance and hate towards each other, but we should try and look beyond that, or forgive their trespassing, because after all, this whole malarkey around at the moment is meant solely to celebrate the abundant love: the bond that is between us humans, the real answer to every question of doubt ever raised over our existence. It’s as simple as that: love.

Just before Christmas I wish I could take you with me all the way to New York City. Even if the past means nothing anymore, somehow travelling in an almost unnoticed sky brings us all closer to who we are. Maybe we could use this to let our best selves shine. Buying into the spirit of the holidays a little, maybe we could let the mirror reflect the selfless, loving, endearing parts of ourselves. However hard it is, maybe it's worth a try.

I hope that when I wake up it will be white outside. I hope the huge snowflakes can make people forget the dirty deeds of their souls. By the time the snow arrives, I’d like a clean slate, something liberating, and something meaningful in these dull days. By the time the snow arrives, I want it to be Christmas.