I can’t let go of Christmas yet. I just can’t. Darkness comes way too early; I need that Christmas tree glowing in the corner, the lights twinkling on the mantle, the Baby snug in his manger. So I will celebrate Epiphany, January 6, not by tucking Christmas away as some do, but by extending it into the long, cold days of the coming month. Why not leave those decorations right where they are for a while?
Come to think of it, I never did get around to baking Mrs. Urquhart’s authentic Scottish shortbread. So today will be the day. The last thing we need at this point is another batch of cookies, so I will distribute these sweet little morsels, complete with red and green sprinkles, to the neighbors. (Well, maybe we will nibble on a couple of them).
Tradition has it that on this day, the Three Kings found the Baby and gave him their gifts. And here in New Hampshire we wakened this morning to an epiphanic gift. A feathery snowfall, with temps just cold enough to form delicate flakes. The woods are frosted in snow, each branch etched in white. The world pauses in beauty, and we breathe it in, grabbing the excuse to postpone any unnecessary errands until tomorrow. Our gift in the darkness of winter. As the winter drags on, and we know it will, I will look for the gifts. The brilliant winter sunsets. The faint birdsong from deep in the woods. The filigree of lacey branches stretched across an opal sky. And little by little, the lengthening twilights. I will try not to wish it away.
Check back with me in a few weeks; I may be humming a different tune!