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No snow; no ice, no frost, no Santa. No fun.
I see the world’s smallest house ahead of me.
This street is ugly, I am irritated. Where is the sun?
We are going to decorate the tree tonight. Whoopee. 

Christmas in a strange town, without family or friends today. 
Thanks for nothing folks. I don’t know anyone in this place.
Worse, my favorite grandma is six hundred and eighteen miles away.
I slow down, dragging my backpack in a sloth like pace.

I keep my head down, so people will know better than to greet me.
I do not know anyone in California, and this place is strange and odd.
 I do not look up as people pass me, maybe two or three.
Hey! Can you help me? It is a crackled voice, sounds like my Uncle Todd.

I see a man struggling with a little tree, trying to get it into a door of wood.
I am from the Midwest where everyone helps everyone, so I help with it. 
When it in place, he gives me a grateful smile that makes me feel good.
Now when I pass this house with this tree, I cannot help but smile a bit.

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