Snow hills in Helsinki

On the radio

Massenet’s Meditation,

and I picture a young girl

in shimmering green

playing the violin.

I close my eyes

stilled by the haunting melody.

It takes me to snow hills in Helsinki

where day and night are black.

Candles flicker orange and warm

circling sunless forests.

Reflections from a frozen sea

tint a starlit sky.

There are nuns in flowing purple,

pilgrims from Copenhagen.

A silver crucifix held on high,

the stars light their way.

Shadows bounce

behind fogged up windows,

whiskey salutes

to a melon moon.

Wood smoke from chimney pots

carries across the sea.

Icicles glint from rafters,

and the scent of mulled wine

fills my kitchen,

my daughter’s voice

behind me,

home for Christmas.



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