Hark the Herald Angels Sing

There's a tree standing in the middle of my living room.

A big fluffy, pine smelling tree with long green needles, waiting patiently, standing tall and proud, for the moment when bows, beads, and Christmas lights, metamorphis its ordinary evergreen branches into something special, something magical.

Bright colored lights the color of candy will glow warm and inviting to the cars that pass us by, while KC and I listen to Silent Night, singing along as the snow falls quietly outside. And as we're hanging our oranaments, ever so carefully one by one, KC will tell me this years plan of catching Santa in the act. Some elaborate scheme of camping out behind the furniture, camera in her hand, waiting for an unsuspecting Santa to sneak inside with his bag full of gifts. But I don't worry. Knowing very well, that sooner or later sleeps claims even the best of patient waiters.

And when she goes to bed tonight, I'll retire to the couch tucking my legs up casually beneath me, cup of cocoa in my hand and admire this years tree for the silent, beautiful miracle of Christmas that it is.