Secret Santa

In dark December, sink into the memory of childhood like a bog man into the peat. Drink too much & sing. Gather all your small griefs, your long-bearded regrets & grotesque humiliations, dress them in red & set them to hammering. This is the season of fresh starts & the slaughter of innocents. Remember to cut air holes in the top crust & don’t stint on butter. Wear sensible boots. Go out into the long night & learn the names of the stars.