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	I was lying in bed one night, shortly before the
solstice, contemplating the now. I was basking in the infinite
perfection of life. Here we all were, humanity, (or Americans,
at least) approaching the grandest holiday of the year. There
were rendezvous, and secrets to be kept or shared, decorations
to be hung, smiles to be passed along and hands to be held. The
whole process would end with festival of celebration.
Afterward, we would all hunker down into our respective wombs
and gestate until quickened by the warmth of spring.
	At this point, I experienced an epiphany. This was just
like the act of the Creation. Lots of setting up exercises,
planning and flirtation, a wild celebration, then a long period
of gestation before the new life is born. It seemed too
perfect. How could this be coincidence? Here was something
magical.
	It was the sleepy period of night just before we turned
off the lights and went to sleep. I rolled over to share my
thoughts with Ardis, my wife.
	I said, "Ardis, isn't it interesting how Christmas and
our year are just like the act of creating life?"
	Ardis opened one eye and agreed with me that they were
the same. She said, "Yeah, they're both messy and you only want
to do it once a year."
	On that note, we turned out the light and went to sleep.
	Women ain't got no romance.

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