There is a certain kind of magnificent creature, whose head always sits in the clouds.

Their holidays, always come as a nifty surprise.

They are lonesome, but never lonely, and they all meet once or twice a year.

Holidays mean, that there are lines, or that shops are closed, or close early.

And these magnificent poets, artists, thinkers, dreamers, adventurers and troublemakers.

Don’t notice, until it is too late, and there is no food – it really happens.

That is when they meet, criss crossing each other’s trails.

In search of a fairly priced open gas station sandwich, or on a frantic drive to the only open fast food joint in town.

Which always turns out to be, closed as well, and it is fine, so as long as everyone is having fun.

There is maybe eight, or ten such creatures in a town.

And as they drive around in their frenzy, for a bite to eat.

They always notice each other, as they are the only ones up and about.

Everyone else is unwrapping their gifts, or slinging turkey meat on cranberry filled plates.

But for these turkeys, the gyms are closed.

Big stores are shut, and gas-station sandwiches sus (stale), if not old, and always overpriced.

They are never lost, or late, on lonely, though ahead of their time.

And they too celebrate, eventually having done their shopping.

They sink into their philosopher arm chairs, and so what they do best.

Scribble in their research journals, or peck away at reactive programming diagrams.

They work out color themes for their paintings, grab new samples for their beat sequencers.

They repack their gear, and ensure their day packs are stocked.

And ponder, the wold, the mind, the meaning, and future.

Seeing rare answers that few can, and shaping their contributions to hold more meaning.

And come the end of day, they marvel at how they enjoyed their surprise holiday.