The weather. Tomorrow, expect a... Biting cold front. Mmm, how naughty. I wonder what I'll be wearing or taking off. The night will be wild and untamed. Expect heavy, lashing rain that'll soak you to the skin. By Monday, temperatures will rise, slowly but surely, reaching their peak in the afternoon.

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Twas the night before Christmas,

when all through the house,

not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds while the visions of sugarplums danced in their heads. And Mama, in her kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter's

nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the

matter. Away to the window

I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the

breast of the new fallen snow gave the luster of midday, two objects below, when what to my

wondering eyes should appear but a miniature sleigh, an eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them

by name.

Now dasher, now dancer, now prancer and vixen, on Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and

Blitzen, to the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now dash away, dash away,

dash away all. As dry leaves that before the

wind hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, so up to the housetop,

...