The smartest people I know carry their cynicism openly, like a Peacemaker in a fast-draw rig. It is the best defense against a world of questionable sanity and undeniable unkindness.
About this time of year, however, some of us set it aside if random events conspire to evoke the awe of a four-year-old watching Daddy pretending to clean the chimney lest Santa get too sooty.
About midnight the light snow began, windlessly and perfectly, a Bing Crosby dream of the Christmases we wish we had had. A watery sun will shortly rise to reveal a fresh two inches of whiteness, a virginal cloak hiding the smudge of earlier snowfalls.
Among other things it moves me to imagine the most romantic kind of Currier and Ives winter print, with a sleigh of toys for apple-cheeked children and the makings of a feast. I send it to you with a hand-written "Merry Christmas."