At night the sky is a magicians show. The heavenly stars glow and vibrate. It is close to freezing, and one can almost imagine snow, the saw-teeth of holly and a choir of all is calm, all is bright. As the evening becomes tomorrow, the road is silent. The pines at the edge of Albufera appear as genial, fluffy clouded puff-monsters silhouetted in the darkness. A night bird calls. And the power station throbs, a lowing cow by a distant manger. There goes a late plane across the speckled blackness and now a shooting star. It races from nowhere and disappears as quickly as it arrived. And once again it is silent, a silent night, and the heavenly stars twinkle on, and maybe that shooting star was something, someone else. Who knows? Maybe it was him, a bearded man with large boots. I wrote this several years ago, having seen a shooting star around midnight on a very cold Christmas Eve. Still seems ok somehow. And the heavenly stars reference came from what has become my own Christmas anthem by Laura Veirs. Not that it has anything to do with Christmas. Simply that its divine. Happy Christmas, everyone. https://youtube/watch?v=0QsG-6UjL08
Posted on: Wed, 24 Dec 2014 18:09:54 +0000
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