Thursday, December 25, 2008

"Always on Christmas night there was music.

An uncle played the fiddle, a cousin sang "Cherry Ripe," and another uncle sang "Drake's Drum." It was very warm in the little house. Auntie Hannah, who had got on to the parsnip wine, sang a song about Bleeding Hearts and Death, and then another in which she said her heart was like a Bird's Nest; and then everybody laughed again; and then I went to bed. Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steady falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept."

From Dylan Thomas' A Child's Christmas in Wales


I'll now be taking a short posting break, while extremely knowledgeable and prompt servicepeople move my interweb connection to my lovely new home. Be back before you know it.

image, raceytay's photostream.

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