Greetings Dear Reader,
It is winter in the Southern Hemisphere. I have a small Christmas Tree up in my living
room and a gift or two for my family. If
you read my scribblings often you know that I love Christmas and celebrate it
all year long.
It is Christ that I celebrate even though I make room for
the bearded red-suit guy and some jolly thoughts. I love reminding my heart that even in the
heat of summer the crisp spirit of winter can invade for a day. I think that we always have time to remember
Christmas and all it promises for a moment.
I will not belabor the point but I will wish you a happy
Christmas in July, lift a glass to your health, and keep my promise to keep
Christmas in my heart all the year.
Happy Christmas Dear Reader. In a
world that seems daily more bereft of joy, there is always time for another
Christmas Song
Another
Christmas Song – Jethro Tull
Hope
everybody’s ringing on their own bell, this fine morning.
Hope everyone’s connected to that long-distance phone.
Old man, he’s a mountain.
Old man, he’s an island.
Old man, he’s awaking – says,
“ I’m going to call, call all my children home.”
Hope everyone’s connected to that long-distance phone.
Old man, he’s a mountain.
Old man, he’s an island.
Old man, he’s awaking – says,
“ I’m going to call, call all my children home.”
Hope
everybody’s dancing to their own drum this fine morning –
the beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town.
Old man, he’s calling for his supper.
He’s calling for his whisky.
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah –
calling, calling all his children round.
the beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town.
Old man, he’s calling for his supper.
He’s calling for his whisky.
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah –
calling, calling all his children round.
Sharp ears
are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming.
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory.
Everyone is from somewhere –
even if you’ve never been there.
So take a minute to remember the part of you
that might be the old man calling me.
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory.
Everyone is from somewhere –
even if you’ve never been there.
So take a minute to remember the part of you
that might be the old man calling me.
How many wars
you fighting out there, this winter’s morning?
Maybe it’s always time for another Christmas song.
Old man he’s asleep now.
Got appointments to keep now.
Dreaming of his sons and daughters and proving,
proving that the blood is strong.
Maybe it’s always time for another Christmas song.
Old man he’s asleep now.
Got appointments to keep now.
Dreaming of his sons and daughters and proving,
proving that the blood is strong.
Wishing you joy in the journey,
Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer
who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home
owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure
store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Contacts for Aramis
Thorn:
Bookings at aramisthorn@aramisthorn.com
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment