Too many people on the bus from the airport
Too many holes in the crust of the earth
The planet groans
Every time it registers another birth
But among the reeds and rushes
A baby girl was found
Her eyes as clear as centuries
Her silky hair was brown
Born at the Right Time
The birth of a child. I'm from a branch of family which is disappearing. No babies. No children. No nephews or neices.
The Winter Solstice, the pagan festival, comes closer. The red of the holly berry on the winter wreath. Pale green hyacinth bud. The joking and banter at the checkout at the local mini-market. Even the office jollifications on Friday. Celebration. Light.
Feeling my way this holiday season with, by choice, far fewer plans than usual. People are coming by but I am not sure who or when. Volunteered for the soup kitchen but they have all the helpers they need. Today I cycle to a solstice celebration in a village hall in the middle of nowhere. The places I go, the people I meet. All new. Everything at the moment is untried. Everything ahead unknown and not without risk and danger. But there are always possibilities.
Solstice. The Sun stands still. Have a blessed and joyful time.
I have Something Understood, on the radio as I awoke, to thank for the reminder of this gem by Paul Simon. Eminently danceable. The complete lyrics are here.