From the Distant Music of the Hounds. (E. B. White)
To perceive Christmas through its wrapping becomes more difficult with every year.
Seasonal music plays on TV or the radio, yet it can’t fill the vast space known as social distance. Necessary. But new, different. I am forced to look inside. At the person I see backward in the mirror. At what I give, not what I receive.
My older granddaughters call. They love their gifts. Sweatshirts. They chose the designs. I cherish their gratitude. Hugs need to come over the phone or on Facetime.
“I love you, Grandma.”
What other gifts do I need?
In past years did I celebrate or accept the season as an entitlement?
Time. Precious. Each passing second. Survival, not to be taken for granted.
terrypetersen 