{"id":9340,"date":"2011-12-23T09:49:08","date_gmt":"2011-12-23T14:49:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=9340"},"modified":"2011-12-27T13:56:22","modified_gmt":"2011-12-27T18:56:22","slug":"seasonal-prospects","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2011\/12\/seasonal-prospects\/","title":{"rendered":"Seasonal Prospects"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image found accompanying the “Christmas Snow” (December 25, 2010) post at John Bedell’s <\/a><\/em>bensozia<\/a> blog<\/a>]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/a><\/em>:<\/p>\n

Snow<\/strong><\/p>\n

Walking through a field with my little brother Seth<\/p>\n

I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
\nFor some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
\nhad been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.<\/p>\n

He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then we were on the roof of the lake.
\nThe ice looked like a photograph of water.<\/p>\n

Why he asked. Why did he shoot them.<\/p>\n

I didn’t know where I was going with this.<\/p>\n

They were on his property, I said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When it’s snowing, the outdoors seem like a room.<\/p>\n

Today I traded hellos with my neighbor.
\nOur voices hung close in the new acoustics.
\nA room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling.<\/p>\n

We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But why were they on his property, he asked.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(David Berman [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

For the Children<\/strong><\/p>\n

The rising hills, the slopes
\nof statistics
\nlie before us.
\nthe steep climb
\nof everything, going up,
\nup, as we all
\ngo down.<\/p>\n

In the next century
\nor the one beyond that,
\nthey say,
\nare valleys, pastures,
\nwe can meet there in peace
\nif we make it.<\/p>\n

To climb these coming crests
\none word to you, to
\nyou and your children:<\/p>\n

stay together<\/em>
\n learn the flowers<\/em>
\n go light<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Gary Snyder [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>\u00a0(highlighted<\/span> portion):<\/p>\n

In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it Christmas and went to church; the Jews called it Hanukkah and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank. People passing each other on the street would say “Merry Christmas!” or “Happy Hanukkah!” or (to the atheists) “Look out for the wall!”<\/span><\/p>\n

…Some of you may be unhappy with this dereligionizing of the Holiday Season, and you may have decided that, this year, you’re going to celebrate it the old-fashioned way, with your family sitting around stringing cranberries and exchanging humble, handmade gifts, like on The Waltons<\/em>. Well, you can forget it. If everybody pulled that kind of subversive stunt, the economy would collapse overnight. The government would have to intervene: It would form a cabinet-level Department of Holiday Gift-Giving, which would spend billions and billions of tax dollars to buy Barbie dolls and electronic games, which it would drop on the populace from Air Force jets, killing and maiming thousands. So, for the good of the nation, you should go along with the Holiday Program. This means you should get a large sum of money and go to a mall.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Dave Barry [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

December<\/strong><\/p>\n

A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
\nJoyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
\nAnd also the partridge in a pear tree
\nAnd the golden rings and the turtle doves.
\nIn the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
\nWhere the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
\nEnduring the cold and also the flu,
\nTaking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
\nNot much triumph going on here — and yet
\nThere is much we do not understand.
\nAnd my hopes and fears are met
\nIn this small singer holding onto my hand.
\nOnward we go, faithfully, into the dark<\/span>
\nAnd are there angels hovering overhead? Hark.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Gary Johnson [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

I walk through the Christmas city lights, not a taxi in sight and the town going crazy all around me, and I think how kissing is such an extravagance of nature. Like birdsong; heartfelt and lovely beyond any possible usefulness.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Anne Enright [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

Finally, a little offbeat but — oh, yes — a great deal relevant to seasonal prospects: the deleted first scene from Monty Python’s The Life of Brian<\/em> [more or less accurate transcript here<\/a>]<\/em>:<\/p>\n