Belle-ah, proving it’s never too early to start looking for Santa

You can’t fool me.

At some point in the hours that follow… no matter how old you are… you’re gonna feel that pull.

That pull to go to a window, or open up your wreath-bedecked front door and step outside…

To look out…

Look up.

Maybe you’ll see Santa and his sleigh and eight – check that, nine – tiny reindeer.

C’mon, it could happen…. you know you want it to.

But even if not, you’ll be looking up at the stars on a December’s eve.

The same ones that hang in the sky in the stories of shepherds and wise men and folks searching for a place to bed down for the night, and of the birth of a savior king.

That story has led to a season that is a little more gentle, a little more caring, a little more giving for those willing and able to see.

Religious faith is, of course, the basis for Christmas for so very many people around the world.

It’s pretty dang cool that, for others too – worshipping choices aside – it is a season of hope, and serves as a nudge toward being charitable… in deed and spirit… of self and resources.

I suppose I’m catalyst-blind.

Smiles given freely?

Support and patience tied with bows?

Love unwrapped so it can be heard and seen and felt more clearly?

Bring it on… all of it.

Keep it going if you can (but no points deducted if you blow it (we’re only humans!)).

I’ve checked the weather, and tonight’s sky will be clear here in midcoast Maine.

The stars will be out in force, and I’ll be looking up at them.

Because magic.

Also, I’m following NORAD.

Because Santa.

As of right now… 5:06 p.m. Eastern Standard Time here in the U.S., Santa has just left Copenhagen, Denmark and is headed for Alta in Norway.

Also, he has already delivered more than 3.510… wait 511… wait 512… well, you get the idea… MILLION gifts.

Just a jolly, rotund, gentleman doing his annual good deed…

From a sleigh…

In the sky…

Pulled by aeronautically-inclined caribou.

Hope and faith, people.

Ho ho hope…

and faith.

Merry Christmas. And thanks, from the bottom of my elf-slipper-clad feet, for readin’.

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