I’ve always loved starlight.

The dusty sprinkle of the Milky Way,

the brittle glitter of constellations,

the renaissance glow of old and new,

of reds and golds and faintest blues.

 

And the flames of candles, too.

The shimmering flicker of a haloed wick,

the undulating liquid light that peaks 

and flattens, fizzes and flares, 

always moving, yet still so still. 

 

So, of course I love Christmas — 

the dotted-light stitch of houses

and trees. The starry-night feel 

of them, as if we’d dredged the 

heavens with a honey wand and

 

pulled its sweetness down to our

hearths and homes, our hearts and 

bones kindled with a thousand twinkling 

kindnesses, a thousand twinkling well 

wishes, a thousand sparks of love

of comfort.

of joy.