New fallen snow blanketed the countryside. The sounds of passing cars along the road were muted in the still, peaceful air. Hills and valleys, in their blanket of snow, rolled softly into the distance, bathed in the mellow light of a nearly full moon. A woody smell of burning pine and warm hearths teased at my nostrils as I turned up the lane toward the house, snow crunching beneath my boots.

The house shone with a warm hazy glow, gentle sounds of laughter and Christmas carols hung sweetly in the air. A string of lights - red, green, blue, yellow - bright and happy, wound around the big picture window next to the front door of the house. In the window stood a tall, handsome Spruce, freshly cut from the surrounding hills. Bright shiny ornaments, colorful lights, garland, and tinsel adorned every sturdy branch. At the very top, a big star blazed brightly, beckoning me into this warm, cozy house.

A dog barked in the moonlit distance as I walked up the narrow path to the front door. I reached out my hand to turn the big brass doorknob...

There was a squeal of brakes and the clatter of garbage cans, the men in their stained coveralls hoisted the contents into the back of the garbage truck. Then the roar of the diesel engine as they moved up the rain-soaked street to continue their daily, early-morning rounds...

Once again, the world from outside my San Francisco flat intruded abruptly into my dream-induced inner reality. The crunching snow under my boots and the dusky smell of smoke in my nostrils was my dream-like version of Christmases long gone...

I awoke to Christmastime in San Francisco...

It was all a dream of course. The passage of thirty or forty years tends toward an idealized, Norman Rockwell-like remembrance of my childhood Christmas. I