Christmas Night

This place is a ghost town. We’d be snuggled inside if it wasn’t for the little black dog gently prodding us to take her outside for a walk into the December freeze fest. It’s cold, as in 10 degrees Fahrenheit cold, with a slight wind out of the north, enough to make you pile on every piece of unflattering clothing in your closet. But the town is empty, and there’s no one crazy enough to be on the trail tonight. Plus, we’re restless.

We reach the park and Kiwi begins to pull at the lead. Casey unhooks her leash and she’s free. The night sky is a hypnotic and anemic blue and the winds gust and blow fine snow crystals into our eyes. Kiwi’s ears elevate with each gust and she launches her legs forward into the pristine snow to keep warm. In the distance a red fleece jacket blazes across a sheet of icy wedding cake. The dog knows bliss. Snowdrifts cover the walk and we crunch our running shoes into the deep white Earth as the dog trails behind.

A red fox races across the open field and Kiwi, stiffening her armored frame, huddles close to us, guarding her people. As he turns his petulant gaze toward us, we marvel at how he’s survived this mean winter and then silently salute him.

We shuffle our way past neighborhood homes aglow from Christmas lights and wide screen televisions. The town is silent, as if we’re trapped in a snow globe. I imagine us set atop my father’s train layout, three plastic figures glued into the scene.

But home beckons. And the Norwegian apple cake that awaits us. Merry Christmas, family, friends! May your days and nights be filled with adventure even in the strangest of places.