The brass band
Today, Santa arrived!
I saw him in my neighbourhood, listening to children of many ages: even having a word or two with the grown-ups that tagged along.
Is Santa the greatest traditionalist in the world? After all, year after year he dons a bright red suit: surely more at home is colder climates. But in his wisdom, he knows: that’s his signature. Hot or cold, fine or snowing (or in between): that’s how we know and love him.
But in this day and age, the local kids are treated to more. For this Santa was accompanied by a red ‘fire engine’: all decked out with tinsel, and packed with happy youngsters. Round and round they went, waving; yelling ‘Happy Christmas’!
A local Brass Band, decked out in uniform, completed the spectacle. As I heard their yuletide tunes, it capped the mood.
Christmas is coming!
Up there, in the deepest recesses of my brain, are memories of my childhood. And what shines bright on the scale of happiness are my thoughts of flowers.
I’ve already spoken of the purple pelargoniums and red geraniums of home, but there’s another vivid image to relate.
Just down the street from my childhood home lived my Aunty, Uncle and their family. Their front garden was dominated by a single tree: a massive, old-fashioned frangipanni.
What tree could herald the changes of the seasons more spectacularly? From a bare, statuesque framework in winter, as if my magic it became a richly perfumed fountain of gorgeous white and yellow flowers that fell to the ground. I loved to gather them up and take them home, where they found a second life in shallow float-bowls.
Do the kids of today still delight in such things? Or has technology swept them into a different world, and different values?