I love December in New England. Gray. Dismal. Sometimes rainy. Sometimes snowy. Sometimes icy.

I landed at Logan Airport on Monday night to 16 degree temperatures – a far cry from the low 40s we have been experiencing in the Phoenix area. And it felt great. I was home, and I was home in December.

The next morning we had some snow flurries, and while today was almost springlike in temperature, there has been no sign of sun these last two days. What a wonderful way to experience December! Even the weather forecast for later today sounds very December-ish.

The weather here suits my mood for this time of year. I love the dark and shortening days, and the way the Christmas tree and window lights try fruitlessly to bring some lasting color and joy to a year that is almost over in the gloom of a late afternoon.

Were I in a monastery, these days would be filled with the quiet anticipation associated with early Advent, the readings and Psalms all pointing to a season of brightness anticipated yet unseen beyond an equally brown/gray spiritual horizon. Just as you can’t have the joy of Easter without the desolation of Good Friday, you can’t have the feast of Christmastide without the gray anticipation of Advent.

I love the sight of bare trees stark against a gray sky, the brown/gray grass crunching under the feet, the sense of sweet desolation of nature no longer at work, but at rest for a few months waiting for the sun and the lengthening days of February and March. Right now, that all seems years away. And I like like it like that.

Seeing friends, enjoying the warmth and love of family, feeling the chill in the air and watching TV weather forecasters that actually have something to talk about. Sounds like a nice visit home to me.