“You are too old for tending flocks of sheep, Especially at night,” they tell me now, The younger shepherds. “You would fall asleep Or stumble in the dark.” If they could know The hunger in my heart to be again Within that field beneath the starlit sky! It’s lonely when you are the only one Still living who beheld the angels high And radiantly fair, who heard their voices. But oh, I know with flaming certainty That I shall hear them, see those angel faces Again. How bright, how glorious they will be In vaster skies, in realms of loveliness Beyond what earthbound hearts can dream or guess!
Day of holiness, Peace and happiness, Joyful, glorious Christmas Day. Angels tell the story Of this day of glory; Praise Christ, our Saviour, Born this Christmas Day.
Oh, how joyfully, Oh, how merrily, Christmas comes with its peace divine! Peace on earth is reigning, Christ our peace regaining; hail, ye Christians, hail the joyous Christmastime!
Oh. how joyfully, Oh, how merrily, Christmas comes with its life divine! Angels high in glory Chant the Christmas story; hail, ye Christians, hail the joyous Christmastime!
Dear Santa, my name’s Vicky, and I’m only eight years old, I’m sending you this note, because I’ve been as good as gold, I’d really love a doll’s house, in my stocking Christmas day, I hope your gnomes will make one, and you’ll bring it on your sleigh.
9th December 1881:
Dear Santa, this is Vicky, I’m the one who wrote last year, I asked you for a doll’s house, which alas, did not appear, I guess my note got lost, or failed to reach the gnomes on time, I still would love a doll’s house, by the way, my age is nine.
14th December 1882: Dear Santa Claus, it’s Vicky, it’s the third time that I’ve wrote, I really can’t imagine why you didn’t get my note, I’m ten, and getting anxious, for a doll’s house of my own, please pass this letter quickly, to the doll’s house-making gnome….
A little girl marched around her Christmas tree, And many a marvelous toy had she. There were cornucopias of sugarplums, And a mouse with a crown, that sucked its thumbs, And a fascinating Russian folderol, Which was a doll inside a doll inside a doll inside a doll, And a posy as gay as the Christmas lights And a picture book of the Arabian nights, And a painted, silken Chinese fan — But the one she loved was the nutcracker man. She thought about him when she went to bed. With his great long legs and his funny little head. So she crept downstairs for a last good night, And arrived in the middle of a furious fight. The royal mouse that sucked its thumbs Led an army of mice with swords and drums. They were battling to seize the toys as slaves To wait upon them in their secret caves. The nutcracker man cracked many a crown, But they overwhelmed him, they whelmed him down, They were cramming him into a hole in the floor When the little girl tiptoed to the door. She had one talent which made her proud, She could miaow like a cat, and now she miaowed. A miaow so fierce, a miaow so feline, That the mice fled home in squealing beeline. The nutcracker man cracked a hickory nut To see if his jaws would open and shut, Then he cracked another and he didn’t wince, And he turned like that! into a handsome prince, And the toys came dancing from the Christmas tree To celebrate the famous victory.
Oh, fairies love a holly tree The foliage makes a roof of sturdy shingles, always green and new and weatherproof. And even under winter skies the berries burn so bright they look like little fairy lamps, with bulbs of crimson light.
Oh, fairies love a holly spray too much by far to leave, and so they up and follow it indoors, on Christmas Eve. And that is why each house is blessed where holly sprigs are seen, because the fairies still are there beneath the red and green.
Christmas Eve aboard the vessel rolling in troughs over the ocean canyon scientists and crew wait in the radio room the little tree flashing red and green bulbs….
The sound engineer is turning dials, flicking switches They have seen the Humpbacks that day spy-hopping, breaching curving under with flourishes of huge flukes There must have been a hundred
These whales sing mostly in the dark The ship’s people have come in from the deck where they have been watching the bright planet in the East They hear a bellowing solo an answer from miles away duets, trios Humpbacks compose their songs sounds that swell and boom reverberating from canyon walls
They are dressing the tallest tree in the city square to light tonight. A silver star shines on its tip. Now they are draping strings of rainbow drops from bough to bough. Tonight it will dazzle us with lights and everyone will sing.
Over there on the edge of the square rather small, very young is another tree snow sprinkled, twinkling silver in the sun. A sparrow sits on top of it so proud, so still…
From “First Snow in the Street” by Brian Patten in Christmas Poems, selected by Gaby Morgan:
I did not sleep last night. The falling snow was beautiful and white. I dressed, sneaked down the stairs And opened wide the door. I had not seen such snow before.
Our grubby little street had gone. The world was brand-new, and everywhere There was pureness in the air. I felt such peace. Watching every flake My heart felt more and more awake.
I thought I’d learned all there was to know About the trillion million different kinds Of swirling frosty falling flakes of snow. But that was not so. I did not know how vividly it lit The world with such a peaceful glow….
In the rush of early morning, When the red burns through the gray, And the wintry world lies waiting For the glory of the day. Then we hear a fitful rustling Just without upon the stair, See two small white phantoms coming, Catch the gleam of sunny hair.
Are they Christmas fairies stealing Rows of little socks to fill? Are they angels floating hither With their message of good-will? What sweet spell are these elves weaving, As like larks they chirp and sing? Are these palms of peace from heaven That these lovely spirits bring?
After a feast of sausage-rolls, Sandwiches of various meats, Jewelled jellies, brimming bowls Of chocolate ice and other treats, We children played at Blind Man’s Buff, Hide and Seek, Pin-the-tail-on-Ned, And then — when we’d had just enough Of party-games — we all were led Into another room to see The Magic Show. The wizard held A wand of polished ebony. His white-gloved, flickering hands compelled The rapt attention of us all. He conjured from astonished air A living pigeon and a fall Of paper snowflakes; made us stare Bewildered as a playing card — Unlike a leopard — changed its spots And disappeared. He placed some starred And satin scarves in silver pots, Withdrew them as plain bits of rag. Then swallowed them before our eyes. But soon we felt attention flag And found delighted, first surprise Had withered like a wintry leaf; And, when the tricks were over, we Applauded, yet felt some relief, And left the party willingly. ‘Goodnight,’ we said, ‘and thank you for The lovely time we’ve had.’ Outside, The freezing night was still. We saw Above our heads the slow clouds stride Across the vast unswallowable skies; White, graceful gestures of the moon, The stars’ intent and glittering eyes. And, gleaming like a silver spoon, The frosty path to lead us home. Our breath hung blossoms on unseen Boughs of air as we paused there, And we forgot that we had been Pleased briefly by that conjuror, Could not recall his tricks, or face, Bewitched and awed, as now we were, By magic of the common place.
Here we go again!
Once upon a time, in the winter of 2019, I started a “Days to Christmas” project to experiment with photography, camera settings, and lighting techniques using various holiday figurines, baubles, and trinquettes as my photo subjects. It somehow (?!?) became a tradition, so once again, for 2025, here we have the first post in this year’s series.
Working indoors with interior and artificial lighting is a lot different than most of my photography, which is of course outdoors in natural light. While this whole project can seem a bit effortful at times, every year it teaches me something new, especially about how to manage light when — unlike outdoor natural light — you can manipulate its characteristics yourself. When photographing Christmas subjects, we tend to emulate how we visualize the season: contrasts between colors like red and green, bright lights against dark backgrounds, or explosions of colors and textures like those of a Christmas tree. During the first couple of years of this project, I typically took photos as night fell to capture those effects; with practice I’ve learned to manage lighting so that I can take photos during the day and simulate what we might see when the sun goes down. The photos in this post, for example, were all taken around mid-day yesterday, yet I (hope) I’ve managed to evoke the Christmas metaphor of warm lights opposing the darkness of winter — one of this season’s intuitively understood visual themes.
The poem I selected for this year’s first post reflects similar visual scenes, as its characters move from the frenetic opening lines to end up in the quieter “magic of the common place” — something that echoes the seasonal transition from chaotic first days to Christmas Day itself. Finding poems that resonate with the work I do for this series is as much fun as the photography itself, and there will be at least one such poem (and some prose) for all of the posts.
If you’d like to see any of the projects from previous years, here they are:
