A bit of a chill is welcome. It is a feeling I remembered from the past. It is nice to be out of the microwave. The leaves are falling in the Woods. Our drought has something to do with it. A little rain has fallen. The dust has settled. I am fascinated by the big rocks in the Woods. Sandstone formations. People long ago carved their names in them. Many were full of sap like a young tree. They had their lives before them, and nothing was going to get in their way. We are the visitors, the rocks are the residents. We come and go; they endure. If you listen closely, you can hear distant laughter. Young people making plans and old folks dreaming dreams. Kids ask how the rocks got there. Spirits watch.

We humans want to beat the system. Where is the key to glory and power, we say. Are creative lies good if they increase our bounty? Ms. Squirrel is gathering nuts for winter. The baby deer was hidden in the Woods’ thicket. He knew he was safe as he waited for his Mom. She told him to stay put while she checked the area for strangers. The Old Man was taking pictures as he was wont to do. The yellow flowers were pristine and plentiful. The Baby Deer could see the Old Man through the yellow flowers. He did not resemble the deer he had seen. The Old Man smelled like sweet but not woodsy. He had on a straw hat. Baby Deer thought that he would enjoy a straw hat. A straw hat would distinguish him among the other deer. A straw hat would be a bit regal. No other Baby Deer had a straw hat. Suddenly, there was a rustling in the bullrushes. The Baby Deer jumped up and, in one motion, had the Old Man’s straw hat and was off like a deer.

Soon we will light a fire in our fireplaces. Many years ago, I was substituting for an absent crew boss at Anthony Hall, which was the White House of Campus. The President of the University had a majestic fireplace in his office. One of the many specific instructions for such an important building for the Custodian to perform nightly was to ‘Lay Fire.’ At the conclusion of the shift, I asked a person on the crew what ‘Lay Fire’ meant, and she told me it was to strategically place wood and paper in the fireplace, whereby the President could simply put a match to the affair, and fire would ensue. She assured me not to worry as they did not ‘Lay Fire’ every night.

So we will lay fire and enjoy the warm glow. Long nights of reflection. Where we have been and where we are going. A pot of stew on the fire for lost friends. A candle in the window to light the path to our door. Animosities and hurts forgiven. Conspiracy theories set aside. The Star of Bethlehem will light our way. We are home from the hunt. Understanding is in the pages of our next chapter. All of us cry. We all laugh. Our eyes tell the story of our lives. We are still here. Our loved ones surround us. The fire is crackling, and the stew smells delicious. Hope is on the horizon. Peace is ours if we will grasp it. A sense of place encompasses us. Big boulders with inscriptions and baby deer with straw hats around us. There comes our lost loved one up the path. Light the Christmas Tree, we will have Christmas now…