And he's been waiting on my return to load the shingles with icing and guard the doors with candy canes.

We construct God out of the things we know to be true of humans. So He becomes a conditional lover. He becomes a gossip among angels. He strikes tallies against us on chalkboard in the sky. He rips the winged petals of daisies off, "I love you, I LOVE YOU NOT..."

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And tonight we'll catch the Christmas lights like sacred specks of fireflies.

The World, she’s allowing this crazy, little thing to conspire where suddenly the December Air is hoisting up Certain Lines of Songs by the waist as if they were the ballerinas meant to steal the final curtain call in the Nutcracker Ballet at Lincoln Center. The Waltz of the Sugarplum Fairies. Up, up in the air they go.

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