Each winter day begins in the same, monotonous way. Depression fills the air, loneliness grows where solitude exists, all as the days grow darker and duller. White frost bites at colorless windows and gloomy thresholds, snow lines the sidewalk cracks left untouched. From streetlamp to streetlamp, lights hang to illuminate the city's dull attempts at holiday spirit. At various intersections, dark trees occupy a corner, encircled with small, stringed bulbs led by a single star at the top.

Cool, white breaths fill the air, deriving from the monochromatics--the black slacks, the grey pencil skirts, the black blazers, the white button ups. Dull briefcases cling to their sides. An occasional rolling backpack slides as the crosswalk transitions from a white "go" to a dark, grey "stop."

A sulky Santa sits in the drab town square, awaiting children, hopeful to tell him of their desires. "Oh, you've been good this year? So what could it be?" A pony, a cell phone, a sack full of trees? That's what he's thinking, the Santa, I mean. What's Christmas without the ability to see?

The ability to see. Not tangibility, not visibility, but the ability to notice, the ability to feel. Forget Christmas, what's life without the luxury of appreciating what's real? Light is light, and dark is dark, but what would come of light in different forms? In new pigments and new shades, the world would find inspiration for infinite days.

Trees, weeds, and plants, the best of the four elements. No one truly understands until they give it a chance. Green means growth and plenty of wealth--potentially in finances but also in mental health. Pessimism turns to optimism,

A dime bag, a couple grams, a quarter, whatever you please, whatever it takes, for the magical touch of an outlawed substance. A substance from nature, untouched by pesticides, potentially organic, even, if I may add.

A small exchange, not two words spoken, between a man and a Santa, slight enthusiasm is woken.

Puff, puff, pass, the magical grass. The Santa and his monotonous elves circle behind the trash. Puffs of red, puffs of green, puffs of gold, puffs shiny as silver bells, too. Ah, the pleasure of the ability to see.

Colorless windows become glass tainted with rainbows. Simple lights become Christmas lights, flashing shades of reds, greens, and yellows. Dark Christmas trees suddenly a cool, olive green, still topped with a star, now as luminous as can be.

The sulky Santa enlightens with color, almost like a superhero. Suddenly, he wishes to take a quick look in the mirror. To reflect, and to decide, how to give the children their desires. Inspired and full of passion, the elves build snow sculptures and sing carols for all of those passing. The town square fills with life, passerbys stopping to seek an invite.

Dull and deserted, black and white to its inhabitants, the power of the earth gave life to a town lacking--lacking in joy, lacking in spirit, lacking in color, with appreciation nowhere near it. The power of Santa and his elves affects others for only this season, but the power of nature affects all, giving them something to believe in.

Let's clarify that belief does not sit on side effects, whether legally induced or not, but rather our creativity and appreciation that cannot be made or even bought. The dealer sits back, having completed the giving that he needed to give, that is, the need to deliver hope to help others truly live.

Gold tinsel, silver bells, red Santa hats, and, of course, green trees, whether displayed or rolled, as long as they're lit, the holidays surely will be.