You know what I find most surprising about this day after Christmas? That it’s so normal. Everything has snapped back to the way it was a week ago, before most of the hysteria had set in. “How was your Christmas?” now replaces “Are you ready for Christmas?” as the desired season-specific greeting question.
I sit at the coffee house and edit. A girl next to me reads Hemingway. Cars pass the square. At many places in America, “After-Christmas Sale!” signs are being pasted up, having been ready for a couple of weeks. Next year’s catalogues are moving from the idea stage to the planning stage. At what point do the foresters need to chop the trees in order to make the pulp for the catalogs to be printed on?
I shall stop meditating now. Maybe I’m not as recovered from yesterday as I thought.
white pebble 