Quiet days

We are in the no-man's land between Christmas and the end of the year, those gentle, quiet days that follow the getting-ready,the anticipation. These are days spent with friends and family, talking with friends and family overseas, not under any pressure to accomplish anything major. It seems as if one is, without really being aware of it, waiting: waiting for the year to wind down, for something coming to a close, before the pace will pick up again and something new is begun.
Time is of little significance now, has a vague quality about it. The sun 'stands still' (the meaning of the word 'solstice') in the morning, while evenings are very slowly starting to gain light: four minutes today - not much, but the very idea gives hope. 

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Christmas morning 

The scent of burnt-down beeswax candles still lingers faintly in the living room, the brass holders with the ball that keeps them in balance winking here and there when a rare ray of sunshine touches them.

        Last night, after coming home from the late candlelight church service, our little family sat together for the first time in a few years on Christmas Eve, watching the candles burn down one by one. Courtney played a few Christmas carols on the piano, gifts were opened without hurry - one could re-use some of the wrapping paper, couldn't one? This long-practiced, but almost forgotten custom took on more significance after Carl read somewhere that, if all the wrapping paper and Christmas cards used in the UK each year was composted, it would provide enough fuel for a double decker bus to go twenty times to the moon and back.

          We watched the shadows of the spruce boughs change on the ceiling, become vague and fuzzy for a little while, then, with the burning down or sudden flaring of yet another candle, every needle was outlined crisply for a moment. The room darkened, conversation slowed, Stanley, the cat, careful not to neglect anyone, changed laps from time to time, snoring quietly as soon as he had found the right position. By the time the last wick glowed red in the darkness we, too, had trouble staying awake. I couldn't help but think back to the time when the kids were small, when we had to let the candles burn down in two, sometimes three sessions, because the kids could have never sat still for that long, the boys were wrestling too close to the tree, Lego trains had to be assembled, games to be tried out that very night - how long ago it seems now, and yet it's hard to believe that they are full-grown, with lives of their own, so soon.

Watching the candles burn down on the Christmas tree
 
Slowly the candles die,
one by one, flames arch
one last time.
Some, wick crimson
like a hot wire,
go fast, one mad whirl
in a darkening world;
some, almost forgotten,

just bade their time:
in near-darkness
the sapphire bead of flame

shines quietly.
Is it the blue light
from the fairy tale
that summons dwarfs,
fulfills your every wish? 
Be careful not to let it die,
to keep it close
when on the ceiling
all the shadow-boughs
have gathered
into one big darkness
once again.