Christmas Eve on the Beach

I'm not a fan of Christmas.  In fact, I don't like it at all.  Too much is expected of December 25, and everyone comes at it with a different set of needs, expectations, and anxieties.  You can't do right by everybody on this great day of remembering who's missing, what's wrong, and why you are not happy so why not throw some gifts around.

And then there is all that annual perfunctory giving that goes on--to charities, soup kitchens, churches, non-profits, family, loved ones. 

I can't get through my email for all the organizations looking for a cash donation because the world is about to end because of something the turd in chief has done.  While I am tempted to forward those emails to the loved ones who voted for the despotic idiot, I can't waste my time.  We are, after all, days away from the end of everything. Anyway, those people don't give.  And it's all I can do to be in contact with the people who voted to ruin this world because they don't like black people.  (This is the very simple reason this country is on the brink of warfare and other forms of disaster.  And if that doesn't break your heart, get yourself checked; you might not have a heart.)

I took these photos on the beach this morning, when the rain was falling pretty persistently.  The first one gave me hope;  I wondered if the feather stopped the stone.  I was happy to see the two coexisting so intimately.  I thought about the possibilities.

The rose on the beach spoke to a different part of me.  I wondered who brought the rose to the beach and why they left it there. And then I thought that this is what love looks like when it is out of place or unwanted or superfluous or maybe just ridiculous.  '

Still, I wonder about the person who brought this rose to the beach and left it there.  How does she feel?