After more than eighty of such purple seasons,
you might think there would be nothing
left to look toward, get ready for.
And, to be sure, there breathes
an air of fond familiarity over much
that we get up to in these leaning forward
weeks of early winter.
All those lists, addresses, recipes,
festive greens and candles, special services
bazaars and concerts, sip-and-dip occasions
frequented by a dwindling clan
of usual suspects all swapping tales
of medical misadventures
and prodigy grandchildren.
“And it came to pass, in those days…”
even so and yet, it all begins again, spell-binding,
simplest words, sweet lingering syllables
that resonate within, beyond the weary ear
into the heart of all our hoping, with a melody
that sings through fear and brings glad news
of an eternal comforting that echoes fondly
from the past and yet is ever new.
