Houses that I pass on the street and imagine they were to be mine.
Briskness in the air, when walking through a concrete field of pinetrees to esthetically create a noel feeling of enchanted forest in your home with dangling ornaments and sparkling stringed lights.
Driving through streets that frost the window, warming musical talents seeping through the speakers bringing memories of great feelings.
Too much warm wine and pastries in your soul as you gaze across the room full of friends.
Laughter and jokes, sometimes at the expense of past embarrassments or regrets.
Wild children now masked as put-together adults.
Crisp toes going numb from an unplanned walk, picking up a fresh baguette and a broken tree branch along the way.
Watching cars pass on the left, filled with mothers daughters brothers fathers, on their way to share in their version of thankfulness.
The china that sits behind dusty glass cabinets for 363 days a year, emerges and is finally allowed to be embraced and enjoyed.
Broken saucer results from teaching the youngest cousin how to set the table, oh well.
That person behind you in line who silently believes themselves to be the only human to dislike the holidays, trying to hide behind the perfect grin shown on their face.
Toasting and gorging. Debates and deep talks. Early morning hours and late night festivities. Big blankets and fresh laundry. Love apparent and hidden admiration.