Santa Clause is real.

Quiet roads, frosty windows, Christmas carols and red lights reflected on silver tinsel on the tree. I love Christmas and all that encompasses it. I love the quiet of home, where Christmas eve on main street means running into six old friends from high school and snow is packed hard onto the road.

I love the chill of the air, though I dislike how the dryness of it chaps my lips. I love Christmas morning, waking up under the blankets than have trapped all of my body heat, and knowing it's Christmas!

I love surprises you never expected, like a macro lens for my Nikon. I love sitting around with my Mom, Dad, sister and boyfriend and watching their reactions as they open their own gifts, and playing cranium which leads to dancing in the kitchen which leads to hysterical laughter.

Coming home makes me feel as though I should never leave it, because it's so comforting and so certain. But at the same time, it's okay to leave it because whenever I come back, it's the same. It is certain; certain that I'll run into old friends and have time to sit and read a book, or cuddle with my Dad on the couch just like I did when I was five.

Home is great and I'm glad I have one to come to.