It had been, oh, how long? More years than he cared to think about. Life had taken him away from familiar places and people into a world they and he knew nothing of. It was a world of tall buildings and bridges, masses of people and multi-course meals.

He had faced      a steep learning curve; one that had kept him stimulated and focused during most of his waking hours and dreaming of fenestration, tartan grids, and plans during his sleep. It was only a few years ago that his engagement had slowed, then slowed some more until what were once challenges were now no more than mundane tasks. His schedule was so dependable, he could set a Times Square clock by it. Coffee at 6:00. Stepping over the threshold of his office by 7:00. A working lunch at his desk or a quick walk to clear the cobwebs at noon. Home by 7:00 and repeat ad infinitum. His restlessness increased.

One day he looked up from his work, past the steel and glass outside his windows, and acknowledged to himself that something had taken the place of the former puzzles floating through his consciousness and had instead filled his dreams with increased yearning. He couldn’t quite believe it, but it had grown until its undeniability filled the room.

So it was that he found himself back in a familiar place, now slightly changed. There was no decent road in. It was a place only off-road vehicles could manage, and even then, the trees blocked most paths. He scuffed through dried leaves on the track to the shaded snowpack near his Grandpa’s old place. Little animals scurried to hide. The cold walk filled his lungs with crisp, fresh air. He dug his hands into his coat pockets, and the vapor from his breath increased with the distance. He used to pretend it was pipe smoke when he was 5. He wanted to be like his Grandpa. And God. For somewhere in his little boy imagination his Grandpa was pretty near as close to God as anyone. He wouldn’t have been surprised if God smoked a pipe.

He’d spent every summer of his boyhood in the sturdy three room log cabin filling his days chasing frogs, swimming in the creek, and climbing trees. And every other winter, he’d been allowed to spend his Christmas vacation from school with his Grandpa. The crunch, crunch, crunch underfoot stopped as he pulled the key from his coat pocket and unlocked old, forgotten memories.

For a few hours he swept and scrubbed dirt from neglected surfaces. He started a fire in the fieldstone fireplace, then sank down in the chair his Grandpa had favored. His mind wandered back to evenings by the firelight and wisdom the world he had come from couldn’t touch. He closed his eyes and wished – oh how he wished . . .

A sigh escaped his lips. So many years. Had he chosen the right path or was the simpler one his Grandfather had taken the better one? Was money, hobnobbing, and status the best reward? After all, they had their merits. Were those years he could have had – of rewards from physical labor and homey leisure – now lost? Probably.

He recalled the last Christmas he had joined his Grandpa at the cabin. His parents had died within a year of each other, and he hadn’t wanted to bear the season alone. But his Grandpa was stubborn about one thing. That cabin. He never left it. Something about his lost dog returning, though it never did. He claimed he always wanted it to know where to find him. And they had spent a wonderful week together. That was before his choices. Before the city. Before.

He hadn’t come here to sulk. He grabbed an axe – the one that was always in the corner by the door – and walked out to find a tree. It was just the right size, and when he had decorated it with pinecones and berries, it was perfect.

He sat in the dark, firelight and shadow playing over the walls and floor, and he prayed. He prayed for forgiveness of false equivalencies and shallow goals. And he prayed for a miracle. Right here. On Christmas Eve. He didn’t want a fancy dinner nor a Tesla nor even a house in the Hamptons. No, tonight he made a different choice. He wished for one more talk with his Grandpa who so reminded him of the Good Lord, Himself.

And the sweet scent of pipe smoke filled the room.

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