christmas eve

it's christmas eve again, in the city of lights that never goes dark, and those numerous bridges all along the  riverway.  the snow came, last week sometime, but now the rain is here and comes down in persistent waves, melting all the white magic gathered along the roadside.  i was with david in a coffeehouse in the st. john's district,

north, and looking out those large picture windows, steamed up and foggy.  a bar across the street had christmas

lights in the door, and old men would come out, every now and then, with a drunken expression of neon christmas cheer on their worn faces.  just a few of us here now, in this old place, and a soft holiday jazz coming from the back somewhere.  

it's a good afternoon in portland, grey and wet; good for smoking cigarettes and hudling under rafters and  awnings. it's happening all over.  and i bet in new york they're all in the streets, talking to each other, seeing each other.  more willing.  that's what the holidays do to you, all of you, unsuspecting folks.  the nostolgia manifests spontaneously in the air we breathe and scenes we see, the bus tires splashing through the brown slush on city streets.. the strange recognition of some early childhood vision, some forgotten celebration. what is this? 

then.. it passes. and we're here.  same chair, same windows, same me, but different.  the magic disappears.  and 

we all forget again.