writing with light

When the photograph is a mirror of the man, and the man is a mirror of the world, then Spirit might take over.
Minor White

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Sleigh-riding joy while waiting for Santa

Mozart - Symphony 1 in E flat Allegro Molto

It's almost Christmas and it's that part of the year when most childhood remembrances come to life in a joyful hasty flow. Most of them, for which I am most grateful, are still a live reality of every Christmas. I therefore find very suitable Mozart's Symphony.

Morning of Christmas Eve brought the waking up to another level. Lovely smells, escaping from the kitchen, were surrounding every inch of every room. Then running around and changing clothes to rush out the door and meet friends with their sleighs. The kids council exchanging wishes that we'd like to come true after Santa had visited each and everyone of us. Then riding again for hours just to come back home all wet and frozen, candid smiling at mom and dad. After warming up, it was time to decorate the lovely tree. Success seemed so far away, usually depending on how much I grew in height during the year. Then came that important moment when writing was most serious and the whole world depended on it: writing a letter to that mysterious old man in which a list of wishes was put together with the list of personal good deeds of the year. Next, falling asleep in a hidden corner of the house while trying to catch a glimpse of the beloved Santa, the next day surprise and rush when opening presents right under the tree whose smell I was so in love with, not knowing why my parents were having the time of their life looking at me. Later came the gathering of the whole family at the Christmas dinner and the smell of all those delicious Romanian delicacies. Then going out and bragging about the presents together with all other kids, issuing and arguing on different hypothesis on how Santa got in our homes without us seeing him. And only afterward, last but not least, riding again our sleighs that underwent some kind of personal fine touch tuning during the year (of course made by our dads)...or, in some cases, simply riding our own clothes downhill only to fearlessly endure the cold and wetness for hours of laughter.

This year I am thinking of writing to Santa again, after so many years. How about you do it too?

Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas to you all! I'll be seeing you next year.

Monday, December 07, 2009


The grace. A kind caress for the eye.
The gentleness. An ineffable sense of touch.
Like a dance.