my new year's wish

to the many extraordinary people

who share this existence with me

with such love

and with

such joyous

and unconditional

acknowledgement

of the tremendous fortune

we experience

in the privilege

of simply

being here

i wish

the blessings

of love

creativity

and peace

and the fulfillment

that those states bring.

steven

the eve of the new year

i saw the sun

setting

its rays

flying upwards

in a rose-coloured plume

so i ran

to the edge of the fields

where the last petals of light

kissed the sky

the air was thin and cold

the trees

tall and silent

the fence line

hummed

in the wind

and from

across the fields

i heard

"i promise i'll return"

spellbound

the night is darkening round me,

the wild winds coldly blow;

but a tyrant spell has bound me

and i cannot, cannot go.

the giant trees are bending

their bare boughs weighed with snow.

and the storm is fast descending,

and yet i cannot go.

clouds beyond clouds above me,

wastes beyond wastes below;

but nothing dear can move me;

i will not, cannot go.

emily brontë

the wise trees

stand sleeping in the cold

william carlos williams

and fragile folk might be here

that white winds bid depart;

thomas hardy

the sun

that i exist is a perpetual surprise,

which is life.

rabindranath tagore

~

light.

at this time of year

sunlight

is a gift.

i look for it

tucked away in the flare

of a sunset.

in the tangerine wash

of a glowing snowdrift.

~

the sun gives without condition

its gift is received and used

in every way imaginable . . .

imagine what can be learned from such benevolence!

a stone which has become a ruby is filled with the qualities of the sun.

no stoniness remains in it.

if it loves itself, it is loving the sun.

and if it loves the sun, it is loving itself.

there is no difference between these two loves.

jelaluddin rumi

across the fields at dusk

across the fields

at dusk

the air

painted blue

to grey

stillness

spreads

like breath

through

the rustling

of a thousand

winter grasses

breathed out

on

the thin dark words

of a crow:

a story

wrapped like a scarf

around

the crimson filigree

of dogwood.

my little buddies

long time visitors to the golden fish

will recall

that for the last couple of winters

i have maintained

a fairly large community of rabbits

who favour the little carrot sticks

and vegetable tasties

that i chuck out the back door.

i am usually held in high regard by these little bunnies

until late spring at which point they seem

to disappear.

well a few days ago i happened to notice

a burly brown rabbit hopping across the snow banks

and sure enough

- after i set out some tasty baby carrots -

here is the evidence i needed

that one or more

of my little furry buddies is back!!!!

so i went out

and said

"welcome back little buddies!

i'll take care of you!"

i hope they were listening.

moving on

the day after christmas day

there's a deeper quiet about my home.

people are fast asleep even now.

the lights are all off.

wrapping paper has been

carefully gathered.

gifts organized or put away.

not quite as if it hadn't

all happened.

but not quite as if it had!

today

we visit my mum and my aunt.

so a journey

down the highway

and then

back again

helps make this day special!

now the new year

can present itself!

christmas day!

hey!!!!! it's christmas day!!!!!!

so a big happy christmas to all of my readers no matter where you are.

i remember one christmas holiday

travelling around with a group of my friends to sing christmas carols.

our goal - fun - pure and simple.

i recall that we had imbibed our fair share of riesling

before we headed out on our noble journey

which only served to enhance the joy

for the singers

if not the listeners.

singing isn't one of my strong points.

so rather than share something

personal but possibly off-putting

i'd like to share with you

three carols sung by people who know what they're doing.

starting with my favourite . . .

i saw three ships

next up will be good king wenceslas

the lyrics for this carol are rich with images in my mind

connected to my last christmas in england.

i was eight years old

and staying at a "christian endeavour home"

in saltburn up on the yorkshire coast.

at the time, my dad was three thousand miles away

carving out a life for himself and his shortly to be arriving family.

it snowed while we there

and i recall one journey out into the countryside

that filled my mind with

(what have become)

archetypal images of a magical christmas.

i wish i could put the sensations of that particular day into writing for you,

but the effect of seeing snow,

moorland, waterfalls, rivers,

and the pennines

filled my head and heart

and to this day i can recall and feel

the very same childlike wonder at it all inside me.

and so i'll indulge myself further

by sharing the lyrics of good king wenceslas

with you here .

good king wenceslas looked out, on the feast of stephen,

when the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even;

brightly shone the moon that night, tho' the frost was cruel,

when a poor man came in sight, gath'ring winter fuel.

"hither, page, and stand by me, if thou know'st it, telling,

yonder peasant, who is he? where and what his dwelling?"

"sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain;

right against the forest fence, by saint agnes' fountain."

"bring me flesh, and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither:

thou and I will see him dine, when we bear them thither."

page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together;

through the rude wind's wild lament and the bitter weather.

"sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger;

fails my heart, i know not how; i can go no longer."

"mark my footsteps, good my page. tread thou in them boldly

thou shalt find the winter's rage freeze thy blood less coldly."

in his master's steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted;

heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed.

therefore, christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing,

ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.

to learn more about this carol then you can give one of my old posts a read!

and of course last but not least, the holly and the ivy . . .

a very happy christmas to each and every one of you!

steven

christmas eve day

henry john yeend king 'twas the night before christmas

there's a hushed expectancy

about this day

that echoes back through my life

to days

when waking

with one day to go

was almost too much to bear!

the hope.

the anticipation.

all wrapped and carefully placed

under the tree.

there to be seen.

there not to be touched!

still fresh in my mind

the memory of

the sound of reindeer paws on the roof -

i heard them once -

the shadow of father christmas

- i saw him tiptoe past the foot of my bed

as i lay in half-sleep

the glory of food

to outshine feasts on any other day of the year

these

and even the forgotten memories

conspire to draw this day deeper

into that magical land

where it is possible to imagine

vast christmas stockings

arriving at the foot of your bed

bulging with chocolates

and little toys

the feet of the christmas tree

surrounded by brightly wrapped presents

all tumbling

one over the other

in their abundance.

pure joy!

but for now, one more sleep

one more sleep!

my favourite christmas card

some time ago i came across a short film

that i eventually bought.

i shared it with my class last week.

it's my favourite christmas card!

it is a simple story of a snowman who comes to life.

it might sound familiar

but it has a

deeper beauty

than "frosty".

much deeper.

here's a brief clip from the film

accompanied by an exquisite piece of music

sung by the incomparable peter auty.

even the words are beautiful:

we're walking in the air

we're floating in the moonlit sky

the people far below are sleeping as we fly

we're holding very tight

i'm riding in the midnight blue

i'm finding I can fly so high above with you

far across the world

the villages go by like trees

the rivers and the hills

the forest and the streams

children gaze open mouth

taken by surprise

nobody down below believes their eyes

we're surfing in the air

we're swimming in the frozen sky

we're drifting over icy

mountains floating by

suddenly swooping low on an ocean deep

arousing of a mighty monster from its sleep

we're walking in the air

we're dancing in the midnight sky

and everyone who sees us greets us as we fly.

or if you prefer aled jones then this lovely rendering will transport you to magical places also!

visions of christmas dinner's past

william t. such the frozen heart of winter

james joyce in his gloomily titled work "the dead",

describes a dinner in which the food is organized "just so"

and the restorative beverages are lined up with military precision . . .

you'll see -

it's beautiful all the same!

"a fat brown goose lay at one end of the table and at the other end, on a bed of creased paper strewn with sprigs of parsley, lay a great ham, stripped of its outer skin and peppered over with crust crumbs, a neat paper frill round its shin and beside this was a round of spiced beef.

joseph clark a christmas dole

between these rival ends ran parallel lines of side-dishes: two little minsters of jelly, red and yellow; a shallow dish full of blocks of blancmange and red jam, a large green leaf-shaped dish with a stalk-shaped handle, on which lay bunches of purple raisins and peeled almonds, a companion dish on which lay a solid rectangle of smyrna figs, a dish of custard topped with grated nutmeg, a small bowl full of chocolates and sweets wrapped in gold and silver papers and a glass vase in which stood some tall celery stalks.

in the centre of the table there stood, as sentries to a fruit-stand which upheld a pyramid of oranges and american apples, two squat old-fashioned decanters of cut glass, one containing port and the other dark sherry. on the closed square piano a pudding in a huge yellow dish lay in waiting and behind it were three squads of bottles of stout and ale and minerals, drawn up according to the colours of their uniforms, the first two black, with brown and red labels, the third and smallest squad white, with transverse green sashes."

john sargent noble their christmas eve

letting go of autumn

a walk home

across the otonabee river

along the shoreline

of little lake

which is gradually

developing a skin of ice

to the west

the sun sets

on the last day of autumn

i let go the autumn

at the edge of the broad sky,

among the fleeting clouds.

fujiwara no tameie

colour and light

i love colour and light.

in people and places.

christmas time

is made more magical

by the appearance of strings of coloured lights.

which are so often mirrored

in the spirits of the people i meet.

chasing away the darkness

of the early arriving evenings,

their soft blur

a playful

dance.

winter dusk

my christmas holidays begin today.

a chance to rediscover

the simpler flow

of the contented existence

i'm blessed with.

kawase hasui kiyomizu temple in kyoto

winter dusk at a remote temple

approaching year's end,


east of the river


the weather turns cold.

at the wilderness temple,


dusk spreads


to river and sky.

kawase hasui sacred bridge at nikko

no wine i know


can melt 
this night.

i follow a monk,


who shuts 
the gates early.

lamplit walls


hold


stunted shadows.

roof tiles


bearing snow


creak constantly.

drifting about in the world,


i still have 
a thousand li to travel;

but just now,


i want to lose myself


in the temple's pure chanting of sutras.

jen fan 
trans. mike o'connor

kawase hasui kansau shrine in snow at lake tazawa

the little stream

the little stream

in very late autumn.

a quiet place

that is known to the smaller animals.

in the winter

it is visited less frequently.

its treasure

concealed beneath a film of ice.

like the little stream

making its way

through the mossy crevices

i, too, quietly

turn clear and transparent.

ryokan

holly

i love the romance of the winter season.

its many and varied traditions.

i treasure

the chance to know

once more

the associations i have

with the warmth

of family

and friends

both here and gone.

i love the incidental immersion in

the wealth of colours

the decorations,

the lights,

and of course the candles.

then there is the food.

all rich

in my imagining.

richer in my remembering.

but it's the small joys

like sugared figs,

mandarin oranges in a wooden box,

and chocolate covered ginger

that dance across

my most treasured experiences of christmas treats.

strangely the most powerful

symbolic connection i make to christmas

is through holly.

i have no explanation for this

as holly is not a part of my family tradition

but it sits in the centre of my associations.

the holly.

deep green leaves.

rich red berries,

glistening

blood red

and ripe.

in olden times,

holly was gathered on carts

and brought to the village or town market.

holly has a natural history,

and most especially,

it holds a place

in between worlds:

"the holly king reigns over the dark half of the year when the days grow shorter.

he ascends the throne after the ritual sacrifice of the oak king on the midsummer fires.

in a neverending cycle of life, death, and rebirth, the holly king is himself sacrificed at the winter solstice, to make way once more for the king of the light half of the year.

the oak and holly kings are dual aspects of the guardian god of nature,

who in some traditions is also known as the corn god.

their combined role is to protect, court, and make love with the earth goddess,

thus ensuring the fruitfulness of the land.

together they are responsible for carrying the green life force of nature through the year."

from "the wisdom of trees: mysteries, magic, and medicine" by jane gifford

dusk's golden light

it's well below zero.

the sun is low on the horizon.

leaves long dried to a pale brown

cling loosely to trees gone quiet for the winter.

then suddenly

a stillness.

i lean out of my window.

the air is cold but moist - snow's on the way.

the sun is just kissing the tops of the hills to the west.

i'll be walking up those hills soon on my way home.

but not until i've savoured

this moment.

every love is a shield

as a child

i had a really undefined sense

of the purpose of the lives

of the people around me.

each lived . . .

and that was that.

this morning

as i reflected on my family and friends,

colleagues,

and bloggy chums,

i considered their

extrordinary contributions

towards making their

small part of this world

a better place

through whatever means are available

and in whatever form that might take.

as a place to begin

i believe that

part of repaying the debt of our existence is

to bring goodness into the world.

if that looks like beauty

or wisdom

or even

the faintest

outline

of a stairway

in the gloom,

it gives a worthy purpose to our existence.

to sing our songs

for all who can hear . . . or as my old subheading used to read:

"go up on the roof at night

in this city of the soul.

let everyone climb on their roofs

and sing their notes!

sing loud!"

jelaluddin rumi

louis welden hawkins girls singing music by gabriel fabry

every love is a shield against sadness,

a silent stair in the gloom,

stir me, sweet friend,

to raise myself to the sky from the rock,

for those who do not know

what deep wind has searched me.

excerpted from “wind at tindari” by salvatore quasimodo

the well of dreams

some days

i wake

in the dream world.

bathe in the water

put on the clothes

drink the coffee

eat the food.

walk the white crystal path

through the dream world.

tsuchiya koitsu
suijin woods in the snow along the sumida river, tokyo

in the middle of the night,


i suddenly rise,

draw water


from the deep well.

white dew


covers the woods;

morning stars


dot the clear sky.

jia dao
 trans. mike o'connor

i have two ways of loving you

i love the very different

facial expressions

on these women

as the triremes return below.

three stories.

three moments.

three points in space and time

from which inferences blossom.

he returned.

he was lost.

is that him?

sir lawrence alma-tadema a coign of vantage

i have two ways of loving you:

a selfish one

and another way that is worthy of you.

in my selfish love, i remember you and you alone.

in that other love, you lift the veil

and let me feast my eyes on your living face.

rabi'a al-'adawiyya

dawson

on this day

fifteen years ago

- dawson -

emerged

from the way beyond

and began to create

a world

known only to himself

but generously shared

with so many others

including

(to my deep delight)

myself!

i saw

and see

myself in him

which affords me

an unlikely

and treasured opportunity

to learn

about him and about myself,

and to reflect

on who, what and why we are

in each other's lives.

because dawson is entirely himself.

as am i.

but we're very much together.

my dawsonboy.

gentle. kind. loving.

creative.

generous in his joy.

simple in his expectations of life.

slothful when it suits him!

at fifteen

this very day,

my dawsonboy

has so much

enfolded

inside himself

that reflects

all that he has come from

and very much

where he will take himself.

so thankyou to whatever brought him into my life!

thankyou! thankyou!

i so very love you my dawsonboy!

reaching from the earth

today, you confront me

and break into my heart.

following the wind,

and the crowd of them,

lightly accompanying me,

fly off into the air.

wave of love and sound,

and you take me to you,

it is unknown to you, that country

where each day I go down deep

to nourish secret syllables.

excerpted from “wind at tindari” by salvatore quasimodo