Wake to a winter wonderland - fresh snow for Christmas morning. The dogs and I go first thing to the river under a light snow-rain. My 59th Christmas on this earth. A house full of sleepers, I am awake early to count my many blessings in the woods with the dogs. Of course, I miss my parents, who will not join us today for the Christmas dinner we host, following traditions - many of which they established. There will be too many presents under the tree, and something personal and practical and extravagant for everyone. There will be too much food and more than enough appreciation. There will be so much energy required; and just enough available. There will be the most delicious smells and acoustic Christmas music in the speakers and happy faces with snowy boots and loud voices booming through the door and the dogs barking, a fire in the fireplace, candles lit on all the tables, and flowers I arrange with pine branches, white carnations, red sweetheart roses, and cold egg nog, and a cup I pour for my father in spirit, and my mother's cheese puffs, hot from the oven and passed into greedy hands throughout the house, and my husband's prime rib and baked salmon and my popovers, perfection, puffed and brown on the outside and moist on the inside spread with honey butter. And the toast I will give at dinner when we finally sit, because I make the toast at our table and my husband and I have made Christmas this way, for our full house, for twenty years it must be now since we took over for my mother and father. And all the presents will be wrapped and stockings stuffed and all of this matters and means so much, but also this, a river, covered in ice, air fresh and chilled, trees bending and not breaking, and all this spectacular beauty in this time of my walk, this peace and quiet and joy, so I give thanks and praise for being alive and having so much.

All photos and text copyright Kelly DuMar 2017