The Wolf rests his chin on soft dark paws, and he smiles to himself.
This Eve has been a busy day.
The day has been wild with flurries of cool snow and glittering icicles growing from every tree. The hedge-rows were powdered with soft flakes, and the movement!
Lucky and Lady and Wilbur frisking while the fat flakes descended like lost feathers -- Hepburn and Velvet, sable dancers against the Meadow's wide expanse -- Tex chasing Bob, the floofy tail whisking tracks in the whiteness.
And the noise! Bob's laughter at his sweet son -- Jasmine and the Siamese Patrol, with Daisy and Max rolling past Kinker and Sam and giggling with delight at their friends' expressions -- Kizzy and Snowball pelting past them with wild yells -- Rowdy and Odie plunging about barking madly, while Maverick and Peaches and the Basils romped in the snow, their laughter ringing like bells.
The barks and the purrs and giggles -- "Lovely!" says the Wolf to himself. Toward the afternoon and early evening, a sort of happy exhaustion takes over and the Meadow grows quieter.
The Basils are still jumping a bit, patting at the icicles, and Maverick licks one thoughtfully. "It really is quite good," he observes, and Shaddo and Jiggs nod, agreeing.
"Of course, it can't quite match the bouquet of the tree water," says Jiggs with the air of an expert. "Takes years of experience," murmurs Shaddo, hiding a grin.
Smokie and Sebastian and Maverick curl up under the great Tree and gaze upward at the canopy of limbs and sparkling ice. PJ and Mr. Bug sit nearby and Molly and Sophie dab small paws at the cool snow, which unlike the snow of Life, does not burn with cold.
Big Buc, Milo and Winston chat with Tansey about the frozen clover beds, and Mulligan and Stevie are trying to talk Angel and Lady into exploring some of the hedge rows. "They really look so pretty with the nice white stuff on them. Let's go tomorrow morning!"
The evening comes on, and the Wolf watches as the cats and dogs settle down for the night under the great Tree. Watson, a small haster who is missing one ear, has a new best friend with Jasper the ferret and the two of them whisper about an adventure planned for tomorrow. Bonnie, a pretty Scottish Fold, listens from a small distance, and Mama Kot, Lucky and Snowball curl up next to her in a purring heap.
Little Knucklehead talks softly with his friend Erie; the two orange lads, one a pretty cat and the other a beautiful red Akita, are like a small sunset under the branches. Chica and Little Bit are sitting with Hootie and Sam, and Nike, Reebok, and Suede tell them about the frosted catmint beds. "They are so cool," purrs Sam in agreement. The seven will make another expedition tomorrow to check the beds for any changes.
Between Morris and his friend Beau, a beautiful Golden Retriever, is a small orange cat, whom the Wolf calls Reddie. Reddie came to the care of the Wolf just recently, and Morris and Beau watch over him. They share many confidences, and they have already shown Reddie the Brook and the Tree, and the three of them love each oter dearly.
All of the small animals slowly settle down and the chatter fades, purrs and soft barks and whines dissolving in the sweet night air. Soon the only sounds in the Meadow are the soft breathing of the small and sleeping creatures.
"Now," says the Wolf to himself, watching the great Tree.
The Tree gives a slight shiver in the cool air, and the branches begin their own intricate dance. The limbs at the top of the Tree contract, smaller and shorter, and the lower limbs expand, soft and fragrant needles replacing the leaves and bare branches. The aromatic scent fills the air.
A handful of glimmering stars fall from the sky, pattering down on the branches of the Tree and shining silver and gold. The snow and shining icicles scatter across the limbs.
Suddenly, from every small branch of the Tree, lovely globes appear. Some hold fragrant herbs, others have sweet scents from Life, and still others hold flowers, light, stars -- all of them glowing with gifts for those who rest underneath when morning comes.
The Wolf eyes lift higher, and in the night sky one star grows brighter, larger. It moves from its place and settles slowly and carefully at the top of the majestic Tree.
It is complete, and the night sky fills with joy.
The Wolf rises to his feet and looks across the Meadow to the Bridge next to the beautiful Christmas Tree. He whispers softly, "Happy Birthday, my Lord!"
The Young Man with the torn hands smiles, whispering back, "Merry Christmas, friend Wolf!"
