The Coming of Light
By Mark Strand
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow's dust flares into breath.
My Thursday involved working on holiday cards, laundry, and a writing project, plus taking two walks in lovely warmer weather -- one to see the deer, hawks, and squirrels (bunnies were hiding today), one to drop off holiday cards for a couple of neighbors who are going out of town over most of the holidays. I also had to make a couple of health insurance-related phone calls and that always takes longer than I expect.
We had pan-fried chick'n for dinner for Chanukah and lit the first candle, then we watched The Best of Broadway -- we had seen Mean Girls in DC before it went to NY and my niece worked on the Princess Diana musical, so I was glad to see those performances. Then we figured we would finish The Right Stuff, which treats John Glenn nearly as badly as it treats women. Visiting Dancing Leaf Farm, outside and in: