I arrive here - today - preparing to light that first candle.
Chanukah begins tonite.

I'm thinking about the miracles...the battles fought....the lives lost...and the wars won.
I'm considering the magic of a drop of oil that continued to burn bright.
We survived.
We carry on.
Against all imaginable odds.
We remain - still and strong.

Ancient history...and modern day.

Who can know what stories will be told about our days and years.
How many times must history repeat itself?
How many lessons will it take before the lesson is learned?
I need to believe that at least one of those future stories will include a miracle. I need to hold on to that hope.

I woke - this morning - to a landscape frosted in mist and fog. The ground was frozen. The skies were silent. The colors were monochrome.

I looked to the tree and its branches.
Exposed.
Naked.
Elegance and grace.
Its limbs so perfectly...yet precariously balanced.

A miracle - I thought - has happened.
From a small seed grew all this.

Someday - I need to believe - our children's children's children will gather and share. Our story. Mine and theirs.
They'll light a candle. They'll celebrate.
We are here.