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To me, it's another day, though I always hope it will be more than that. I make an effort to stay in tune with the great themes of the universe, at least the solar system. It moves slowly enough, but also quickly enough that with a minimum of effort I can keep track of its changing character. The great theme of Christmas, however, turns out to be another Christmas. I suppose that could be something to be glad of, if quantity were the only issue. We could count our Christmases and be glad, or else count them and be weary. It's hard to say what the optimal response should be. This period of time, this portion of the year has long been associated with plenty — Saturn and Santa are very close relatives. But, just as Saturn was overthrown to make way for a new age, Santa spreads his token plenty in the leaden cold of winter. Christmas is the promise of things to come, not the reality of them, just as faith is the expectation of things unseen. The death of the Sun is also the birth of the New Year. What we mourn we celebrate, what we lose we anticipate, and for all such things we say,

     Merry Christmas
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