Down south, I discovered, Christmas tends to look like this. At least, it does when you live on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. No snow, no bitter cold. Just shorts, flip flops and margaritas on the deck.
As I watched, nothing else moved. The water was still, the gulls silent. Only the glowing tree seemed to not go quietly into this good night. It shined on, long after the sun took its bow, finally left the stage.
What a gift. They must see a million sunsets here, but I only got to watch this one.