Cinderellas and Christmas Trees


There are many things that may be said about living in a city.  I should know, I’ve said most of them.  But, after dark, the dusty old Cinderella is transformed into a lawn of glimmering lights.  Here and there can be seen a Christmas tree in repose. 

One is encouraged to think, that there is a cheerful sense of fellowship and persistent goodwill amongst friends who meet and even between strangers.

I am reminded of a poem by Wallace Stevens called “Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock”.  Although, I think at the end he found the remedy.  It is a poem best heard with eyes closed, but you can always imagine.

The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.


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