Walter Lunt Palmer, ( 1854-1932),
oil on canvas.
1. Are We There Yet?
The sun blurs across the lower quadrant of the sky. Even at noon in winter there are always shadows, stretching across the snow like ogham script.
We think of the solstice as the longest night of the year; yet, according to my almanac, for nine days we hang upon the tree with eight hours and forty-four measley minutes of light.
On the twenty-third, rises the Full Cold Moon:
t'was in the moon of wintertime,
when all the birds had fled...
I am in sympathy with the ancient myths. I crave lights and fire in my cave, and roistering.
Johnnie, bring the yule log in...
And I understand why, in the Northern mythologies, hell is a cold and frozen place. And why they drank a lot in Valhalla.
2. Oh Please, People:
A certain classic redundancy makes me spit out my eggnog and say vulgar things, especially when I see it used carlessless by agents and editors who are supposed to know better: refer back/return back.
3. WTF spam:
This Christmas give the gift of Family.
Really, I have a lovely family and I prefer to keep them. Sorry, if I'm selfish.