I barely touch the sidewalk, in a dream-state. I hear Winter's approach. Time and time again, I must stop, catch my breath and admire. The southern slant of the light shines through the gauzes that time has made of the leaves like it does through my friend's martini glass when she toasts me for surviving 9 weeks non-stop promotion of The American Slave Coast, when we meet for an al fresco lunch in one of the pocket parks. Lovely lady: she brings martinis in a flask and crystal martini glasses.
I've not been feeling much love for my city lately, but still, Manhattan in December, particularly by mid-afternoon and early evening, is a magical place. It crackles with delight and anticipation as people rush from work to bars, restaurants, home to dress for a Christmas party, the decorative lights brilliant, the stores' windows whimsical and enticing fantasy lands of winter and holiday dreams.
|The White House Christmas 2015 |
A Hall of Snowflakes.
There are different snowflakes, including a special one designed for each state.
The lovely time of year, the crawl up to the winter solstice, is here, days of light filtered through the ending of another yearly cycle, night dark and sweet as deep piled blue velvet. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the greatest poetic tribute to Christmas, was written about this time of year.
Party time and hibernation time. For ex, two mornings in a row now, we haven't gotten out of bed until 11:30! That never happens! But it does this week, it seems. Wassail for all! And good night!