It’s in the air. All over the night’s sky, magnificent magic. Racing heart inside my chest, I am dressed for battle. Christmas is coming, as is my time, her bright eyes fixated on me.

I was silently searching for the moon, waiting to make a wish, when you asked what was on my mind. I would tell you that I’d lost all ambition of worldly acclaim, but you know too much, and I’ve already said too much, so, you’d never believe it. If this is just a dream, then…

I call her again, that dream, in a restful sleep. She does not answer.

Copper and carmine combine in the fireplace, dancing to the familiar song of the season. The wind whistles as the witching hour begins, and good fortune trickles down onto the sheets of snow. Tomorrow treks through the wretched weather, and I am awake, brewing pot of tea after pot of tea, anxiously awaiting her arrival.