The

light in

December

has managed

to creep into

the dark corners

of bedroom and hall,

reflecting on photos that normally sleep in summertime shadows that

cover the walls. The ancestral clock reembraces the sun,

its ivory face reawakened by light.  Time’s marathon

ticking has finally run the year to its finish, dis-

pelling the night. Now everything old is

revealed as brand new, and every-

thing dusty recovers its sheen,

and thoughts long forgotten

resurface as do old loves, old

hopes, old songs and old dreams.

The circle revolves. The pendulum

swings.  And            light falls like

Christmas                        from bright

angel                                          wings.