sing, all ye blissful ones of heav'n above

Cold sea, frost-bitten old grass, bare tree branches, clouds, jackdaws, frozen mud on a forgotten path. Lonely boats on still grey water, people with dogs. This path along the sea is all I need today.

I think of the dream I had last night, of living on the beach and really living. I think of that night I spent dancing before all the dance floors closed down. I think of beauty, dogs, friends with different perspectives.

I come home and play my Christmas playlist for the first time this year. Songs from long-gone childhood records, Bach and Tchaikovsky, beautiful new songs, hymns, fairytales of New York, choral works in Latin that still resound in my memories from university town cathedrals, homesick Canadian-Irish songs that somehow ended up in my Christmas canon, that annoying Mariah Carey that I can't bear to delete.

I need to clean my house. I'm cynical and weary. But even I can see the candle of hope flickering in a window far away. Light and life to all He brings, ris'n with healing in His wings.

Peace, the First Sunday of Advent, God waiting behind the corner. O sing, all ye blissful ones of heav'n above.