Christmas morning in Amherst, Massachusetts.

The snow is sifting quietly through the white pines, down onto the huge bony rhododendrons, the carpet of dormant pachysandra. I am the only person awake.

Yesterday morning, as I drove back and forth at sunrise, the first lines of a new poem leapt into my mind, a celebration poem, a poem of happiness. It has been a long, long time since I last had the sensation of pure joy pouring through my imaginative life.

I don't know who or what gave me that Christmas gift, but I am honored and grateful.

Love to you all.