Baby, it's cold outside...
In the late evening light, Tom poured a glass of Island wine and poked his head in on the girls one last time. Sound asleep and had been for more than an hour - the insanity at Christmas Eve dinner had exhausted them, leaving them dead to the world for the duration. The wide eyed excitement and insomnia would come next year, or the year after. Tom had already carefully arranged presents under the tree - simple stuff, clothes from the clothes box, kids books from the shelf, and a few carefully whittled things their father had made.
Grinning to himself, Tom stepped barefoot around piles of pine needles, rehanging an ornament that Neil had made with the girls on the upper branches of the tree. Near the fire, Geppetto and Dexter were curled up and grunting happily in their sleep. One last time, he checked the position of a small wrapped present and opened the door to the hut, leaning in the doorframe to watch Mike toil back to the cottage with extra wood.
Grinning, he sipped the wine, remember a dozen other Christmases, Ohio, Sarajevo, Santiago City and everywhere in between. While the whole world changes, the little things stay the same.
Tone deaf, he started humming.
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas....
Grinning to himself, Tom stepped barefoot around piles of pine needles, rehanging an ornament that Neil had made with the girls on the upper branches of the tree. Near the fire, Geppetto and Dexter were curled up and grunting happily in their sleep. One last time, he checked the position of a small wrapped present and opened the door to the hut, leaning in the doorframe to watch Mike toil back to the cottage with extra wood.
Grinning, he sipped the wine, remember a dozen other Christmases, Ohio, Sarajevo, Santiago City and everywhere in between. While the whole world changes, the little things stay the same.
Tone deaf, he started humming.
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas....