Of hay & way

“Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way”

The words come through tinny on the small speakers, but Dylan Thomas’ voice is unmistakable. His deep lazy growl is a tiger after a meal, warming his belly in the sun. I heard a short winter story of his on the CBC on Christmas Eve, while I, still in my stockings, was waking up from a long winter’s nap. Dylan Thomas was a troublemaker. Travis and I were grocery shopping today. You should see the Spartan apples; the honey ham! At the checkout an elderly woman, a hired help, asked us if we needed assistance carrying the bags. We politely declined, saying (in a somewhat more tactful way) that we should be the one carrying her bags. This was followed by Travis looking over his receipts and noticing that he hadn’t signed for his credit card payment. He informed the cashier of this, to which she inwardly rejoiced with the blowing of heart trumpets. The elderly woman said “It’s nice to see that there are such respectable gentlemen nowadays.” And for a short time we were all brought back to the nativity scene, where, though the cattle lowed in the background, the glory of the child burned brightly in the manger full of hay.