December 25, 2020

Feast of the Nativity. Snow began late last night, but with such ferocity that a white Christmas was assured in half an hour. Great whirls of it against the street light, cars spinning their tires trying to get up Lakeshore. What I did upon waking was get out the colored pencils and begin to draw. In five minutes I was back in artist mode, and the change of medium didn’t seem to matter so much. Minutes with the pencils taught me things I didn’t learn from the facility of oil. Fed the birds. Fried a pork chop. Made hot chocolate for myself from scratch for the first time in forty years. Watched the birds that used the dogwood outside the window as a stop before the feeder. That was my Christmas. I was perfectly happy.