Winter hasn't been exciting for a long time. The Christmas season is ancient history. Now we have the flu season. The evenings still are dark. The puddles remain frozen. The green plants of last summer are dry, brown stalks. Tree branches are bare. The snow is dirty.
I return home one early evening, as forlorn as a forgotten string of Christmas lights. My husband isn't home yet — the house is dark. I walk past the frozen garden to the house. At the door, I fumble for my keys in the cold and finally find the right one. I grab the mail on my way in.
Some lights on in the house will help. I turn up the heat and light a fire. I make some tea. I sit down with the mail. And then I catch sight of something bright.
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