December is only one of twelve months. Nothing new there. Not exactly a news flash. But, there's something about the month of December that sets it apart from the previous eleven. As firmly as I decide, generally about the time the autumnal equinox rolls around, that I'm going to resist December's mysterious draw, I fail year after year.
It could be the holidays, out of control and over the top as they are. Several years ago, though, we and our respective families decided to cease and desist the craziness, not to mention the costliness, of exchanging gifts. So, the intensity of shopping and wrapping and mailing is no longer a factor in December's appeal. We still send greeting cards, Tal and I. Maybe that's it. Partly, anyway. And, December is easier now that I'm not in full time parish work anymore. But, even when there was too much to do and I was working when other people were off and with their families, there was no denying some sort of magic.
Maybe what's special about December is the light. The steadily diminishing daylight as we head toward the winter solstice used to be more worrisome to people than it is in our 21st century world. But, just because we know shortening days won't shorten into permanent darkness, we sure do light up the place with shimmering, glimmering, flashing, blinking light. We're just doing our part to insure the return of the sun, I suppose.
No answers. I'm going to satisfy myself that December isn't a regular month. I can pretend that it is; I can resist its allure. Or, I can simply "be" in December and enjoy it.