Christmas, 2011 (MMXI)
A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels hovering overhead? Hark.
For all those who stop by from time to time to be greeted by something other than infrequent posts with outdated commentary, or deafening silence amid a state of neglect, leaving you to wonder if anyone is in attendance, forgive me. The proprietress, as she were, has succumbed to the all too tedious strains of necessity, incidentals like food and shelter, that require her presence in places far removed from the comfort and pleasure of these idyllic pages.
And now, here we are, another year past, windstormed off the calendar, with nary a moment shared or a glass raised.
Despite my distractions, you and my dearly coveted counterpart, the Errant Aesthete, are sorely missed. May you live in joy, abundance and gratitude in the coming days and may we all sleep in heavenly peace.
Poem: December, Gary Johnson
Image: Gay Street, NYC; Michael Magill.
For a little holiday enchantment, experience this: