Letter #48: To the Last Month of the Year

Dear December,

You started this morning while I was still sleeping underneath covers, mildly aware of a draft coming in from a bedroom window. I whispered "rabbits, rabbits" before leaving the bed and took a long, hot shower. The cat meowed and was fed. I straightened my hair and got ready for work as the day started to break.

Your first day was barely beginning but I already listened to this song a half dozen times.
I've thought about the family member I miss the most and watched this video for the first time this holiday season. Picturing her and myself as the little girls in this video going on with adventure despite the bleak darkness of winter. And I cried because I miss her.

I treated myself to a chai tea in a new mug and imagined what the first day of December feels like on the other side of the country. 

I remembered December's past that felt warm and whole. And remembered that I cried for some of those too.

I thanked Mother Nature for temperatures in the 50s. And wore my red trench coat instead of something heavy.

Then I said one of those silent, personal prayers to all of December asking for more sweetness than sadness as the year wraps up. I hoped for treats and less troubles. I started reflections on what 2012 has meant to me but wondering if the last days will have any great shifts. Wondered if the Mayans might be right, and wondered what the fuss will be like on their last day. 

And then I started the first day of the last month of the year. It was time to go to work and light up the neighborhood. All the while, holding my breath while the year ends. 


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