Around the way, around the bend,
where does the snowy path end?
Just around the curve, a log cabin is tucked into the trees. Smoke wafts out of the stone chimney and the clear voice of Bing Crosby can be heard from inside where a man sits, feet propped toward the fireplace, drinking spiked egg nog. His big hound dog is curled up on the rug in front of the hearth. The snow is too thick to break a path out and nobody will visit in this weather. It will be a quiet night at home.
That’s what I think is at the end of the path. What do you imagine is there?