(Or, an update on last month’s small change–making room in our life to observe an eco-shabbat)
Take the day and give thanks–thanks for the work, the rush, the busy-ness and the gifts they bring.
(Life made rich and, truly, possible, by all that doing.)
Say thanks, and enough.
Mark the calendar with the evenings that are ours alone. Guard them as precious.
Let darkness fall unhampered. Full upon the home.
The heart –our dinner table!– lit by candles, oil lamps.
So much to say in that warm light
(Oh, my husband, how good it is to sit here with you, in the darkness that returns us easily to each other.
To ourselves. To the music we make.
To the love we discovered those many years ago in what could be another world,
but lives, renewed and fed by these quiet evenings.)
A night of watching the candles burn low, the oil run out, the wood turning to ash.
The source of our warmth and illumination no longer removed and intangible,
but here before us–solid and finite.
When the light goes, and the stars and moon come through,
and we find ourselves beneath the same night sky as our ancestors,
(My, the many dark nights we emerged from!)
we can take our time finding the words to that old, half-forgotten song.