Whitewater Christmas here.  The beat-and-retreat of driving rain on the roof and and stained glass punctuated this morning’s liturgy.  The playground was  a swimming pool; we sprinted to and from the car.  (But not cold!  Barefeet, very happy, taking the compost out after breakfast during a break in the rain.  Window-fogging warm — very nice.)  The grooves on the interstate were full of water —  had to drive a foot to the left of usual to avoid hydroplaning.

We closed the Christmas Mass with “Joy to the World”: Let fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains repeat the sounding joy. I’ve been singing those lines my entire life, but I’m afraid I’ve always given more attention to the hills and fields.  Today the floods finally got their chance.  Hopefully they will not get carried away in their repeating.

Merry Christmas.