Twenty Seconds to Midnight

Shawn and I sat on the floor in a quiet living room by the light of the Christmas tree and the embers in the fireplace, each holding a glass of late zinfandel and watching the clock on his iPhone count down to midnight.

Twenty seconds early, our neighbors erupted in a tumult of cheers and noise makers. Flashing lights from roman candles and piccolo petes shone though our windows. From the decibel level, you would have sworn we were at the big noisy party after all.

A chorus of toots played call and response, issuing forth, no doubt, from those standard foil trumpets they sell at Hallmark for just such occasions.

Shawn and I listened and laughed out loud.

“They sound like arguing geese,” I said.

A fire cracker exploded in the street.

“That would be the hunter,” Shawn said.

We sipped our wine while car alarms up and down the street went off in cascade.