Marvellous how we´re back to the ” thin twine of red blood ” ( Seamus Cashman ), the Christmas goose as a
Girardian sacrificial victim in the new snow which has fallen this
unholy night of good sleep in spite of the world´s ( – Ouch ! ) suffering.
I have no Jewish answer. What was Abrahamic Abram up to ? How´ll I peer through the thick snow ?
A full year it is since last we typed such jolly thoughts, the season´s greetings to all, but also to sundry.
I wish myself well as well ? Pursue peace like a snow-hare ?
How ? Healing
air, healing sleep, grub, breathing ; composing, conscious harp-playing, ” níl neart go cur le chéile ” is surely untouchable in its re-assuring Old Irish spondees.
Yet I ache for
its content and then to kick its anti-maverick bias down the slippery 67 steps.