Here and then gone, so long in coming, so quickly over. One moment I am thinking Dicken's thoughts of how I should hold Christmas in my heart year round, the next I am as cranky as old boots, unkind thoughts clunking through my sinus-miserable brain. Was it even here? Amid the rush and the wrapping, the cookies and the midnight mass, the anticipating child, the folded up receipts, the endless calls to shop more - doesn't anyone get weary of all this buying? Hold on to a winter's thought, something in the darkness, the ice and cold, the catch of breath in the star-graced night. I think there was a small bit of magic, somewhere.