Buddha sitting under the Bo Tree with Buddha Banner. Leeds Retreat, early December.
‘Tis the eve of Christmas now and all through the house not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse. The food has been eaten, the dishes all washed, the candles extinguished, dah, dah, dee, dah dee dah dee dah! The world is nestled all snug in bed. (miss the next bit…) And now I’m settling my brain for a long winter’s nap. After The Night Before Christmas poem. Quite a long way after!
Outside from my high vantage point all is in darkness, in a ghostly light. Snow. Moonlit snow. Blue. Is that a car picking it’s way down on the Alston road? Across the valley a farm light is on. Closer the tree tubes stand sentinel around the cemetery. Up there high to the left, the moon. A sulky moon? Sulking in mist. Now shine, now not shine. An icicle glints a shaft of clear light. Now gone, with the moon.
When the world goes to bed it is, sometimes, good not do the same. Not always so easy to not do the same. Generally.