A newborn is fresh fallen morning snow.

When you closed your eyes, and turned your head into the pillow

Your last sleepy thought was of the yellow street light, illuminating the patch of lawn the runs up to the sidewalk.

But the morning surprises you.

And all that you know is covered in crystals of white.

Undisturbed by falling branches, or lined by fur trimmed boots, trailed by a red plastic sled.

Soft and quiet.

You knew to expect it.

Hoped for it.

The weather, the clouds.

Certainly it was time.

But even so, when you awaken and everything in front of you is beautiful and new,

It’s magical.

Like Christmas.