Tonight we are trudging through a Vermont wood. The snow is thick so the going is slow. We seek a tree for our cabin. The light of a full moon glistens off the surface of the newly fallen flakes, that still drift down from the heavens.  We guess that four more inches have joined the six already there.  Chips fly as we fell the perfect blue spruce. We tie a rope around its lower boughs and pull it home, stopping once to hear a hoot owl announce his presence. We open the door to our warm, softly lit room, and stand the tree in a corner just made for it. After lighting and decorating that gorgeous tree to both our likings, we snuggle on the sofa, sip our toddies, and admire our holiday handy work. We fall asleep under a pile of flannel throws, books falling to our sides, as our Christmas Eve gives way to dreams of childhood Christmas mornings of years long gone.