When Johnny and Jonna come marching home…for Christmas

This set of holidays I turned the pages of my seasonal calendar by the decor in the Denver airport. On the way out West…Thanksgiving and then two weeks later, all reindeer, pine trees, red balls, and poinsettas.

We don’t have peace wrapped with a bow under our trees for Christmas, honorable or otherwise, but we have serviceman and in these times, servicewomen, coming home on leave to visit their families. This is a good thing, though I’m not yet reflexively familiar with the desert khaki nor seeing women in fatigues. Both give me a startle. St. Louis, home of Kirtland Airforce Base, is the destination for many, including an attractive redhead with a bun sitting in front of me flying on the Denver leg.

On the TV there are the remote greetings to familes from the field…and these are heartbreakers and heartwarmers, in almost equal parts.

An Amish woman sitting behind me speaks to her grand daughter, looking down over the lakes we’re fyling over:

“They are frozen,” she says.
“How can you tell?” the grand daughter asks.

Because, I want to turn around and say…because of the blinding silver reflections beaming up to us. First the outline, as if drawn by a giant pen…and then the flat planes of silver color from a giant brush…these puddles we fly over.

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