Under the Mistletoe

by evergreenovella

It rained last night. That cleansing sort of rain that chases the heavy hanging humidity out of the air.

Stillness. “Words, after speech, reach into the silence.” [Burnt Norton]

Missing the scent of evergreens (as I am apt to), I’ve lit a Mistletoe scented Yankee Candle on my bedside table. The flame flickers from the half-opened window behind it. I never tire of hearing the sound of tires on just-wet pavement in the background. Some air-conditioners hum from their window perches. A train signals its arrival not so far off.

These are simply beautiful things. They shine and twinkle with a slow burn when the grey clouds of my grieving doesn’t overshadow them. As is so oft the case, joy comes in the morning.