Many times in the last week, when Mr. Glad and I have put on our jackets and gone out the front door for a neighborhood walk, we have been confused by the pleasant springtime air, the sun shining down on us. Briefly pleased, then remembering that it all means drought. It’s a year when I can appreciate this Christmas poem.
And there was already light:
A stainless steel glare breaking through the eucalypts;
The sky enamel, cobalt-washed, lapis lazuli blue.
The north wind blew in from the desert:
Drowning in the hot scent of mock orange and ripe mango
We longed for the cool change and the sea breeze.
It was already the longest day:
Why should I await the Light of the World
When I already have a surfeit?
Into the crowded starry midnight,
The neon and electric city festival,
Into the early dawn jangling with birdsong,
Into my summer:
Then came the Christ Child into the brightness
And he was more than the sun.
— Katherine Firth