Saturday, December 20, 2008

Thoughts To Music

Originally uploaded by adriannadane
Christmases long ago were a simpler time.
Pleasures plainer...

Faith of Our Fathers reminds me of Thanksgiving.

I see glitters of silver and gold,
the pomp and circumstance of kingdoms.
A royal walk and processions of many,
a formal affair, powdered hair.
Silks and satins in muted colors and whisperings of luxurious cloth...

Then I roam amongst the middle class,
with warmth of fires, maybe a Charles Dickens classic.
The laughter abounds in the homes filled with warmth.
A skip and a hop, a smile with a twinkle, a flirtatious glance from
behind elegantly painted fans.

A room that could encompass a country with its size,
as the crowded room dances with a measured step,
a curtsy here, a bow there.

And now in the drawing room we sit and listen to a quiet concert
of one.
A melancholy moment, elegant and pure,
as the music captures and enraptures the room.

Away to the manager as a child is born.
More simple and purely rapturous it cannot be.
To the child that waits as the kings attend and the people do
come in processions and lines,
shepherds, kings, and all that do know.
As the angels watch over the manager below,
and here is the child of Mary...

The present emerges with visions of stores and snow-covered streets.
A rock opera of the present--42nd Street--New York--
a commercial production with jazz as its beat.
The dancers I see all aglitter on stage as they move and retreat.
Dashing with presents here and there, back and forth.
Wild is the beat as only the present can bring.

A modernist movement not to be outdone by the Christmas
production next door.
The present's interpretation of a holiday celebration.

And now we move on into a home of joy.
Still the present to be sure--but to a quieter side of of our nature.
A tree stands tall with the twinkling of lights, a fire in the fireplace.
Side by side we watch as the virgin snow falls to blanket the earth.
Children asleep as we enter the quietest and most profoundly peaceful moment of the year.
No other is like it, no other to compare,
To this moment of oneness with past, present, and future
Christmas Eve--the most holiest of nights.

December, 1996

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