Midnight Train

Posted on 23 December 2005


We’re packing our bags, cleaning, and getting ready for Paris. I thought I wasn’t, for the first time, sad about leaving our village but this morning, when I looked over the valley hidden in a soft mist, the ground and trees covered in a thick frost that looked more like snow, I wondered at my heartlessness. It is so magnificent, this fertile wine country, even when frozen.

Still, on Christmas Eve day, we will be in Paris and in a warm apartment. I want to sing. And though it won’t be like any Christmas we’ve ever spent, I’m looking forward to a long stretch in my favourite city (with my valuables worn in a secret pocket, inside my coat.)

I’m throwing on a few more pictures from Christmas past. We’re all sad that Mike won’t be with us. He’s hibernating in the small village of Cobourg, Ontario, near my parents, with Mackenzie, his love.


A little older, a little less impressed by Santa

Michael and Santa
(This year only Mike
took me seriously when
I asked for a photo with
the white-bearded chap.)

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