| Deep in December.... Kaneohe, Oahu,Hawaii Like everybody else in the world, I have my own memories of Christmas. Some of them seem to be before my time, and consist of vague yearnings toward frosty nights of white cloaked pine trees and deep winter silences, perhaps recalling back to when I hunted and howled on the winds. Some of my Christmas memories are of stone cold archways, warm wood hues, white robes, joyous midnight chanting, pungent aromas of incense and candle smoke, and the brilliant jewels of the stained glass windows in the Catholic churches of the seventies. Somebody else's memories that shaped my own were found while reading "A Child's Christmas in Wales" by Dylan Thomas. His memories reached out to me until I had to go down to the enchanted sea, the waves echoing of trumpets and english horns, on the very Christmas Eve night that the pages of that book were first turned, and every Christmas season thereafter until I moved to this island which is surrounded by the same mystical ocean. Particularly this year, I am remembering Christmas celebrations of my own late childhood which seem to typify all of the nostalgia which is so much a part of this beautiful season of blossoms and brilliance and song. As my gift to you, I offer these pictures, possibly a bright and shining day, but more conceivably part of many Christmasas, all rolled up into on great, grand Yule log, and blazing in the fires of my memory. |
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| Christmas In Trabuco By Sharon Snow |
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