Christmas Eve

The fog is thick here.

It is winter but it is muddy everywhere. The fog hangs like baskets of wet laundry draped on radiators to dry. Clotheslines brought inside.

Our boots sink into the earth at the dog park. Our dogs burrow into the mud to find sticks to eat. We call at them to stop, tell them not to eat the sticks, but they do anyway. Everything is so wet.

It starts to rain, but just a little. Maybe what is falling is just drops from trees shaking but there is no wind so it must be rain.

It is Christmas Eve Day.

We notice that this year no one has hung ornaments from the trees at the dog park but there are dozens of tennis balls strewn along the eastern path. Gifts for the dogs.

I don’t miss snow. I don’t yearn for snow to come because it is Christmas Eve. It is enough to have mud and a little rain.

It feels keen and fine.