Christmas Day is lovely.
Can’t argue with that.
But the night before is what steals my breath and makes me believe in magic. When you’ve outgrown Santa, when you’ve made the conscious decision to relegate to the rear mad shopping, stress and the frantic pace, what is left is the sheer beauty of the season.
For me nothing showcases that unique splendor like a fine, clear, cold night. Dark. Deserted. Lit with splendor.
I wander unfamiliar neighborhoods and find elaborate displays. Extravagant creations glittering in the night….
Sparkling abundance paying silent homage….
But I linger longest before the simple presentations.
Their elegant purity touches the heart. They do not shout. They whisper.
This is the night before the Day. This is the anticipation of the celebration of something extraordinary.