Peace incidentally descends.

It is Christmas Eve and I am sitting pretty. My mother is in a a very well run nursing home. She is dry and warm, comfortable and oblivious. She is the best she can be. She can no longer remember. She cannot count the cost. For this we are thankful.

She is warm and safe.

Robyn and her mother Donna are upstairs wrapping presents. Caitlin is home from school. Soon Walker will be home from work. The dogs are asleep: Maggie on the sofa, Tye on the carpet. Snow falls outside, big as feathers. Caitlin's friend has decided to spend the night here, rather than brave the road to Burlington.


Tonight I notice that I am not in pain, that my movement is not restricted, that I can move about at will. Tonight I notice that the people I love most, my son, my daughter, my wife, are safe and warm. Tonight I notice that peace falls around us, feathered snow, soft, sweet and constant.

Peace be upon you, kind stranger.

We are stardust, we are golden, we are caught in the Devil's bargain, and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden. Merry Christmas.