many hundreds of miles away with cats (starting at the window)
fall crept in as if it hadn’t fallen really not quite yet or it was mischief as from sprites or maybe the mischief Lads of Yule come down from Icelandic mountains ‘round this time of year
with the ogress their mother and sometimes accompanied by the great black Yule Cat of which there is an enormous rendering in Reykjavik
times the size of us
looking like an omen in and of itself simply beheld
I mean many times the size of us and warnings of great fire for eyes
and all these beings seem to play a role like Krampus in the watching and the punishing of waywardness though I’m not sure the audience for moralizing children only or adolescents full-on adults and might the creatures go to halls o government as if one year’s chastising should be enough
well anyway it’s blue and gray today not so far from Gettysburg and with our own local versions of folklore
for seasons and for planting and for harvest for correction though somewhere there should be tales of mercy and good humoe don’t you think
and by the way Icelanders have a true society for taking care of cats
The Cats of Reykjavik friends gave me a mug because evidently people care for cats at home or should they wonder elsewhere be actively looked after not as communal property rather as communal treasure
fear of the legends maybe though I don’t think so except well there are stories and there are stories with one of the true ones about cats on board ships and how they kept the plague away by hunting rats that carried fleas that in turn carried plague
and Europe would have done so much better had they not killed cats as signs of witchcraft which brings on two subjects of doubt that grown-up people even medieval Christians say should have known not to have excused themselves for all the local violence that had the affecting of wrecking health and taking so very many many lives
and so for this and other real matters the Icelandic are under aegis to be cared for which not I think on it emphasizes civility in how we should be civilized beyond dissolute even depraved resolute
c l couch
(19 December, third week of Advent, fifth day into fifth night of Hanukkah, and there are planned traditional observations—with the solstice in the after the day after this one, whether planned by us or arriving anyway)
I typed “keept” at first for “kept” and rather liking “keept”; and, let me see, I haven’t slept (sleept?) since the night before this last one, and even then briefly (still breathing foul air); and I have a hangnail, which of course is bearable except there is a bandage on it, making typing more of a challenge than is usual—and this is enough if not excessively an apology
photo by Wietse Jongsma on Unsplash Hallgrímskirkja Reykjavík, Iceland
In conversation, I prefer Christopher. My mom named me after Christopher Robin, after all. In writing, I use “C L Couch” (or, more simply, “c l couch”) because the form is genderless and also frankly easier to use. I have awful writer’s cramp. I am an educator more or less retired, more or less due to disability. At present, I live in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania (USA). My writing here I mean to be occasional and also devotional. Either or both. The banner and profile photographs are by my friend and peer Debra Danielson. More of Debbie’s work to be enjoyed is at debradanielson.org. Thanks to each of you and both and all for coming to my blog.
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