The lights are up on the house. They were first turned on last night. I may be the first in the neighborhood but only by a few days. Once one of us turns on the lights the rest are soon to follow.
The big Christmas wreath is hanging from the window above the front door, swamping the influence of the humbler Thanksgiving wreath that hangs on the door. As it should.
Every little sign of Christmas crowds out all around it.
A world is cast in a season of cold and death.
The Blessed Virgin awaits a trip to Bethlehem.
The Lord of the Universe will soon step on to the stage that is His creation.
In the hearts of children, Father Christmas is on the move.
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