December beckoned to me while half winter darkened the night sky to augment the starlight. "So it's time for a new time again. If you were  to take something along, what would it be?" he mumbled. I said "Yes, any minute now for us to stride towards January. It will be colder there but my mother's knitted cardigan has more warmth than warmth."  He wanted to ask much but the surfacing discomfort somehow restricted him. But at last I spoke like the Christmas fall, " We are so accustomed to moving now from one year to the other like nomads that there are somethings we take along while other have to be simply left back. I wish I could carry every morning which changed to night and every stranger who went out of sight, I wish I could carry the speck of dirt which hugged my clothes while a car passing by ran through a puddle, I wish I could carry the endless melodies we chorused, the last smile on every one's faces  in candid snapshots. The stark reality is that I cannot. Noone can. But I wish the same things arrive in newness , so again I will to cling to them by the end of another December, like another home. " "Anyway let's blow the candles, it's midnight ", a voice from the side interrupted.  And then there was silence.