Less than a mile away, in the dim light cast by the plant lights in our classroom, a pill bug wanders around the compost. It moistens it gills, bumbles into a fellow pill bug, exchanges greetings with a brief twitching of touching antennae, then ambles over to nibble on a piece of potato.
It knows of existence, and the existence of others like it.
Christmas means nothing, of course, to a critter no bigger than a wheat berry.
But living does.
The light is returning.
There is joy and wisdom in silence and darkness. Merry Christmas!