I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.
As Christmas approaches I must confess to wistfully wishing on occasion that I could believe the world is as it has sometimes been presented rather than as my rationality has come to view things.
I watched "A Child's Christmas in Wales" again last night. At least once in the season this (along with Raymond Briggs' "The Snowman") is a must.
I smiled, chuckled, delighted in the lilt of the familiar language and the remembered scenes. I grew up in such an area in England close to the Welsh border and had relatives in Abergavenny (photo above).
I lost myself in the warmth of parents' and grandparents' caring, the innocent mischief of uncles, the adventures of young boys and merriment without any malice. The world as a safe and magic place where generation yields to generation with wondrous connections.
Lesson? 'Tis the season of a voluntary suspension of disbelief. Mine is becoming merrier as the day approaches. May yours be too.