The light is ebbing from the westward horizon, and outside, vehicles, clearly with somewhere to be quickly, streak eastward.
We in the middle, with just a few small tasks to do, are finding the stillness.
The Resident Fan Boy is on his headphones, attending Christmas Eve services at the Cathedral virtually.
Elder daughter has wished us good night from London, where it has been Christmas Day for a quarter of an hour. Just before we turn in this evening, we will join her again as she wakes at seven in the morning to open her stocking.
Younger daughter has stashed away the cat's Christmas stocking that she assembled this afternoon. I can hear her warning him away. He can smell the catnip.
Demeter dropped by to deposit her Christmas packages at the base of our tree, hurling them from her walker with soft plops on to the aluminum foil we've put down to discourage the cat, so I'm guessing we're not getting breakables. She'll be back for Christmas lunch, ordered from the local Japanese restaurant, probably the one eatery staying open tomorrow. (Christmas dinner, our usual tourtière, is waiting in the freezer.)
It's a Christmas like no other -- which is much like other Christmases.
Christmas is kinda like that.
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