soemand

It’s safer to leave the house outside, lest a little one get into too much candy. Serendipity conspired with snow to get the shot.

We are awake — and so is the little one, already wide‑eyed and inspecting every new present under the tree. It’s barely morning, the lights are still soft, and the house is quiet except for the sound of tiny hands gently turning over gift tags. The magic of the day has officially begun 🎄✨

At the in‑laws’ place, the outside world barely exists—one flickering bar of service, if I’m lucky. The Bay of Fundy stretches out in front of us, grey and endless, the tide doing its slow, ancient breathing.

Inside, the little one is on high alert, glued to the window, waiting for a certain jolly, oversized visitor to make his grand entrance. Every creak is a possibility. Every gust of wind is a sign.
Disconnected, quiet, and oddly perfect.