The morning after

It's the morning after Christmas. There's a candle near the window, flickering and guttering. I cross the room to see if it is one of those artificial kinds. I should have known: the LED ones don't gutter. I wonder why? I'm quite sure I could have designed something better, but I didn't and there's the catch.

It's the morning after Christmas. I've just listened to a recording of the Queen. She mentions the 75th anniversary of D-day and scenes of war atrocities flash through my mind. She talks about the effect of small steps and I am feintly encouraged for such are my own experiences. I look up the lyrics of the carol she mentions and am reminded, oh joy, that the angels are still singing whilst I step painfully...

And ye, beneath life's crushing load,

Whose forms are bending low,

Who toil along the climbing way

With painful steps and slow,

Look now! for glad and golden hours

come swiftly on the wing.

O rest beside the weary road,

And hear the angels sing!

For lo!, the days are hastening on,

By prophet bards foretold,

When with the ever-circling years

Comes round the age of gold

When peace shall over all the earth

Its ancient splendors fling,

And the whole world give back the song

Which now the angels sing.

It's the morning after Christmas and still dark outside - daylight hours are short here. I wonder if I'll take a few literally painful steps outside today?  It's -10'C and falling...