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December 12, 2002
A glass of red wine warms me up on a cold December night. On the way home from dinner, it’s hard to distinguish between the Christmas light displays and the fast food signs. They’re similarly garish and overly bright. The waxing moon looks right, but just a sliver of something natural.
I look for wisps of foggy spirit sightings, sightings of Christmas’ past and present. O Holy Night, enfold me in oblivious darkness. I’m tired. I feel depressed, as I search for signs of joy in this suburban landscape. A melody surreal, with it’s fleeting message of harmony and peace.