It was the night the lights went out in Pratt, or something like that. Christmas 2018 has ended, although it seems like it barely began. At our house, we haven't even finished it up yet. On Wednesday night, Lemon Park lay cold and dark. There would be no last stroll through a sparkling wonderland. Only […]

It was the night the lights went out in Pratt, or something like that.
Christmas 2018 has ended, although it seems like it barely began. At our house, we haven't even finished it up yet.
On Wednesday night, Lemon Park lay cold and dark. There would be no last stroll through a sparkling wonderland. Only the plastic outlines of the Christmas that was were visible within the dim shadows cast by streetlights and tree branches. Overhead, Canadas honked somewhere in the distance, their sound growing ever closer, likely headed for the sand pit on the southwest edge of town. First one and then another skein flew over the park, as if to announce, 'Winter is here now. It's time to go inside.'
In Sixth Street Park, there were no 12 days to count down, just a small herd of shadowy deer bolting across the sidewalk toward the curving road, disappearing somewhere on the other side.
Even the full-sized nativity scene near the hospital stood silent and dark. Before long, Mary, Joseph, the Wise Men, and even the Baby Jesus will be put back into storage, until another November rolls around.
Christmas may be over, but hopefully the Christmas spirit will live on.