Sweep the pine leaves off the floor, got a bit of what we paid for. Pour the crystal glasses full. Yeah, I know they aren't crystal, but tonight they could be. Watch the cider on the stove. Cinnamon and bourbon. Whole cloves. I'll run out for kindling, dear. Sure, I know there is no fireplace here...that's some other place...I just need a walk, a walk to remind me of when these holidays were holy, still. Read the Christmas cards again, just so I can hear their voices. I'll pull out that poem we saved from the little note your father gave us just as we left. It's something like, "Harder times have heard us sing / Glory through the downward swings / Pleas against these awful trials / Never fail but take a while." As ours do now. I guess we can wait.