If anything, it was Christmas and I jumped out to see the reindeer prints
in the snow, which were actually regular white tail deer,
but to the kid who left reindeer food in bushes, it's all the same.
This morning though, it isn't Christmas. And I'm not excited.
Instead, it's the day your parents tell you to grab that last box from your room,
the one with all your favorite books and that little stuffed dog
with the too heavy head that you bought for ten bucks at some restaurant
in Door County--the same restaurant with the goats on the roof reminding you
of reindeer--and load into the car. When you beat the sun, nothing smiles.
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