A pane of glass is a kind of compression of distance, enabling us to get up close to what we want but not permitting us to take it into our hands. We want it all, this life before us: the miniature Christmas village lit by a steady joy; the doll that in our arms would never grow old; the tiny train that, tooting, speeds away and always returns. Yet our lives are not beyond this breath there on the chilly glass, but of that breath, and in this life the hands in our mittens are never really empty. It is all around us, free, this wonderful life: clear jingle of tire chains, the laughter of ice that breaks under our boots. Each hour’s a gift to those who take it up.
~ Ted Kooser, “December.” The Wheeling Year: A Poet’s Field Book
Photo: Barry Mickler via Jaimejustelaphoto
yes, each moment –
Indeed…
the laughter of ice……………..
Oh boy. I’m probably missing something obvious or something I should know. LouAnn, interpretation please.
I just liked the phrase
I “LOVE” it now that I didn’t miss something painfully obvious. Thank you!
I am usually one for the obvious!
Laughing. And yet, you stunned me.
Oh, lovely David!
Happy Holidays to you and your family!
Love,
Debra
Thank you Debra. To you and your family as well.
Yes, and like that pane of glass which separates and seems to protect us, our pain can also insulate us.
Let’s not shelter ourselves so much.
Stay awake and alive, friends.
Vincent
Yes, Vincent. Yes. Happy Holidays to you and your family.