The house sits in its own refrigerator. Oh cold December. Though winter can be defined as that season during which the days first lengthen until they equal the nights, popularly it is that cold time. That breath of cold air. We walk down the Kings Highway, looking in the closed shops, and pass on past the high school, and circle back through the dark woods -- dark by New Jersey standards, where the lights seldom seem so far away. Hopkins Pond sports some ice -- white harbinger of the storm soon to come.
For the snow is coming. Always. And so does Christmas. Merry Christmas!
