just unsubtle floodlights, hauled out and in place for the occasion,
their gentle beams firing the majestic spires
and dissipating in the gloom.
And no exotic digital displays, nor laser lights,
but an innovation; a speaker above the hardware store,
from which Bing, to a dark and near deserted street, crooned,
and only Rudolph ran strictly to tempo.
But a time it was, of innocence and quiet excitement,
when the air was as pure and life as certain
as the cotton-wool on the Crib was white.
And when every rooftop and every chimney, unencumbered
were objects of wonder.
And the black laneway - a sanctuary.
And sleep - a nuisance.
And socks hanging in a drab kitchen -
an adventure.
When "Postman's Knock", "Forfeits", and "The Queen of Sheba"
brought joyous laughter.
And voices: adult voices modulated,
blended with play,
and the texture and fragrance of marzipan.
__________
© Cormac McCloskey
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