Rainy wintry afternoon  Errands in the West Village Old neighborhood Autumn leaves dead on the cobblestones  Warm Christmassy feeling  Inside Cafe Cluny Duck confit!

As thoughthe river werea floor, we positionour table and chairsupon it, eat, andhave conversation.As it moves along,we notice—ascalmly as thoughdining room paintingswere being replaced—the changing scenesalong the shore. Wedo know, we doknow this is theNiagara River, butit is hard to rememberwhat that means. From The Niagara River by Kay Ryan as read by Joseph Goldstein

Dylan Thomas 1914 – 1953 Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right,Because their words had forked no lightning theyDo not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the…

Years ago,winter brought joy.Now,love of my lonely hoursfills the winter grey silenceand poems,like Christmas candles,illuminate the night. — Joseph Goldstein

Invariably at sunrise, I would see a [Pueblo] mother outside the door of her home, with her children standing beside her. She and the children would be reaching out with both hands uplifted to “scoop” up the new day and then “pour” it over their heads and bodies in blessing.  — Richard Rohr, OFM