Christmas Light
By May Sarton
When everyone had gone
I sat in the library
With the small silent tree,
She and I alone.
How softly she shone!
And for the first time then
For the first time this year,
I felt reborn again,
I knew love’s presence near.
Love distant, love detached
And strangely without weight,
Was with me in the night
When everyone had gone
And the garland of pure light
Stayed on, stayed on.
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I had a pretty uneventful Tuesday trying to catch up on things that didn't get done Monday, from laundry to delivering local holiday cards (it's against my principles to pay for stamps for anything I can walk less than a mile to put in someone's mail slot). I also discovered a pile of unscanned cards while I was going through my Star Trek stuff yesterday, so I started scanning that too -- half holiday cards from 2016-17 and half fan-themed cards, so I'm not sure how they ended up in a box together.
It was quite cold, but we took another walk in the afternoon, then Paul made Swedish meatballs and potatoes for dinner for St. Lucia's Day -- he'd had rye bread baking all day so the house smelled good -- and I caught some Spheals. After we ate, my Voyager group watched "Once Upon a Time" (too much Neelix), then Paul and I started catching up on The Peripheral (kind of uneven for me, like a mid-season Westworld). From the Symphony of Lights display at Merriweather Post Pavilion:
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