Morris walked through the shelter with two trays, each of which held generous portions of ham, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, a dinner roll with butter, and apple pie with whipped cream.  He placed them in front of an emaciated elderly couple.  The old man beamed at Morris as if meeting a long-lost son.  Morris smiled stiffly back, then started toward the kitchen before the man could say anything.

Why was he on the floor this year?  Gratitude made him uncomfortable.  His sister Liz and her kids walked by with two trays apiece; his brothers Cody and Felix managed the kitchen, or, more accurately, led the cooks in a gleefully off-kilter rendition of ‘God Bless Ye Merry Gentlemen.’  Morris wanted to carve hams with Dad.  But before he did anything he had to find Mom and make sure she was okay...

It had been a few years since he’d seen this place.  They did it up nice, but they could never hide the fact that it was a homeless shelter.  That made him uncomfortable too.  Not the homeless themselves, but the cruel awareness that the system which dehumanized them could be so easily remedied, yet never was.

As long as Morris could remember, his parents had volunteered here on Christmas and brought their children along to help.  Now the children were fully grown but tried to come home and help out, sometimes with families of their own.  Once the last guest finished they’d return home, then talk and laugh through the night.  After a little sleep and breakfast, everyone scattered back across the globe to either enjoy or endure another year of life.

Morris just felt relieved he’d finished his strange mission in time to see everyone.  Although, now that he thought of it, he couldn’t remember anything past the Buddhist universe.  The last thing he remembered was meditating in a field…

Morris opened his eyes, sighed at the starlit valley, tightened his robe against the wind and chill, curled into a ball on the grass, and fell back asleep.