Firewood and Christmas Lights

It's cold here, Lissie told no lies. It's a bit chilly. I might be understating. I might have woken up to see snow lining our window. It's quite lovely. Lissie thinks it's... "shenanagins." I'm not going to complain, however. I like getting in snowball fights with strangers young and old. I like making snowmen and snowangels and the snow sculptors who emerge early on these mornings.
So out I went.
Played I did.
Dragged Lissie along kicking and screaming (I kid, she only protested so much. Giving her cocoa lightened her mood by miles).
Despite the cold on my nose and the chill on my cheeks, there was that smell of warmth in the air. Like firewood for the chimney and the charcoal the wood will inevitably become. The smell of freshed cooked meals and cinnamon in your cocoa and ginger in your cookies. It smelled warm.
The friendliness of christmas wasn't just trees in the windows and lights on the houses. It was there too, but it was in the hellos and the friendly waves and the red sweaters and the scarves wrapped twice around your neck for extra warmth. It was everywhere, just like Lissie's said. It was in the snowflake that fell just on the tip of my tongue and melted away. Fresh and cool and welcoming.
We're doing well, we're doing surprisingly well. Even if the snow's melted by now - it'll be back later. So will we. Promise. Even in all the dark on the outside, right now we've got ourselve protected with Christmas lights and firewood. We're doing just fine.