4th day of Xmas
Six o'clock, and as dark, silent and still as In The Beginning.
Christmas past, Christmas present, Christmas yet to come. Christmas is still present, for Florida, temperate, seasonably warm. I could enjoy this mug of Black outside on the porch, waiting for light and for the clouds to clear. This is a good Christmas Present. For us, the most recent Christmas Past was in exile, Hurrication Exile in Walton County, far from home, as far from home as the heart can bear. And cold. I remember seeing Mercury low in the morning sky, from the east-facing balcony of our kataluma. I recall walking up to the fifth floor roof to look out over the sea. I remember bitter cold and biting wind and hoping that this too would pass, as it did, but of course, along with it the passing of a significant part of life itself.
Christmas yet to come, what? In another life, beloved parishioner and friend Miss Pearl used to say, "This is my last time. I won't be here next year", said it pitifully for years, for several years until we buried her and sure enough she was right, though she didn't live to see her prophecy come true.
Saturday, December 28. On the fourth day of Christmas my sea view brought to me - - a speeding boat at dawn, crossing Courtney Point bar, rounding for the Pass and open Gulf, disappearing into the fog. Maybe a rescue boat. It was too dark to tell.
RSF&PTL
T
Christmas past, Christmas present, Christmas yet to come. Christmas is still present, for Florida, temperate, seasonably warm. I could enjoy this mug of Black outside on the porch, waiting for light and for the clouds to clear. This is a good Christmas Present. For us, the most recent Christmas Past was in exile, Hurrication Exile in Walton County, far from home, as far from home as the heart can bear. And cold. I remember seeing Mercury low in the morning sky, from the east-facing balcony of our kataluma. I recall walking up to the fifth floor roof to look out over the sea. I remember bitter cold and biting wind and hoping that this too would pass, as it did, but of course, along with it the passing of a significant part of life itself.
Christmas yet to come, what? In another life, beloved parishioner and friend Miss Pearl used to say, "This is my last time. I won't be here next year", said it pitifully for years, for several years until we buried her and sure enough she was right, though she didn't live to see her prophecy come true.
Saturday, December 28. On the fourth day of Christmas my sea view brought to me - - a speeding boat at dawn, crossing Courtney Point bar, rounding for the Pass and open Gulf, disappearing into the fog. Maybe a rescue boat. It was too dark to tell.
RSF&PTL
T