Across the Water

 

Photo by Steve Dale, Nov 2023

            Across the water,

               I see the bright lights beckoning,

               Dazzling, colorful, happy, and alluring.

            Yet I'm only here,

               Not there.

            Here is dark and cold and lonely;

               But there is a comfort in its familiarity,

               A kind of solace begot by consistency,

               Fraught with insistence

                       Pressing in all the time.

            Yet, I see the lights across the water.

               How can I get there?

               It's too cold and far to swim.

               No boat have I, no friend, no aide.

            Yet across the water,

               bright lights beckon with bold beacon.

               Who will bring me to that welcoming, warm abode?

               Is there a path, a trail, a road

                   so my angst might weaken?

               A course to bring me there

                      —Across the water?

            Yet still I sit in silence,

               staring across the water.

                       Wondering.

The Quiet Dignity of Appalachia

 

Photo by The Appalachian Project
Phelps, Kentucky

        There is a quiet dignity about the mountains of Appalachia.  An old, settled sort of grandness that comes with age and maturity.  Other mountains may be younger with sharper peaks and deeper valleys, but Appalachia doesn't have to show off.  She's not a youngster trying to make a name for herself.  She has the quiet dignity of an elegant majesty much like an old lace doily draped over a family heirloom table.   And just as in your grandmother's old parlor, there comes a stillness in the Appalachian hills.  The stillness oozes from every creek, every rivulet, and every stone in each and every holler.  And all the more so when nature pulls the grey blanket of fog over herself to settle down for a well earned early winter rest.

Night Is Still O'er Ancient Israel

 

New English words to the Russian Carol, Ночь тиха над Палестиной "Noch tikha nad Palestinoi"  ("Quiet Night Over Palestine")

You can see the original Russian version and

my line-by-line English translation here:  Ночь тиха над Палестиной

1.

Night is still o'er ancient Israel,

Earth is tired and slumbers on.

Mountains, forests, hills, and valleys—

Dark of night has hid them all.

2.

There in Bethlehem so wearied,

All the lights were finally out;

Only in remotest pastures,

Shepherds kept their night lookout.

3.

They knew nothing nor suspected;

So to pass the weary night,

Seated then they started talking,

With the comp'ny of firelight.

4.

Suddenly th'angelic voice came;

Trembling took the men with fear;

And in robes of snow-white brilliance,

[An] Angel of the Lord appeared.

5.

"Do not fear nor yet be anxious:

From the Lord in Heav'n Above,

Come I now with revelation

That your hearts rejoice in Love.

6.

"Mercy to the earth God sends now:

Christ, Himself, the Sovereign King.

Sinful earth He comes to ransom—

Gives Himself as offering!"

 

7.

(Repeat verse 1)

Night is still o'er ancient Israel,

Earth is tired and slumbers on.

Mountains, forests, hills, and valleys—

Dark of night has hid them all.

 

 

 

 

Listen to three versions of the original song sung in Russian:

• Дети Поют  (Children Sing)
  
  
• A group that uses the Дети Поют  (Children Sing) music track
  
  
• A Serbian Church choir

The Angels Sing

New English words to the Russian Carol, В Ночном Саду "V Nochnom Sadu"  ("In the Night Garden")

Original words and music by Vladimir Shishkarev.

You can see the original Russian version and
my English translation here: В Ночном Саду (In the Night Garden).

Lead sheet is found below.

1.

In Bethlehem upon a lonely night,

  Jehovah sent His Son,

The little Babe, so helpless in our sight—

  Salvation then begun.

  

  Chorus--

    The Angels sing, announcing Christ the King,

       The Wonders of His Love.

    Now come and see this blessed mystery—

       Immanuel from Above.

2.

The shepherds kept their flocks in fields at night

   All seated on the ground.

The angel of the Lord caused them great fright,

   The glory shone around.

  

  Chorus--

    The Angels sing, all glory to the King,

       To God who reigns on high.

    And peace on earth, the notice of his birth,

       His favor giv'n hereby.

3.

At once the shepherds left their flocks and ran

   To see this glorious sight.

The Babe was wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid

   In manger on that night.

  

  Chorus--

    So let us sing, proclaiming Christ as King,

       The Wonders of His Love.

    Then go and tell that God with us does dwell—

       Immanuel from Above.

    

Listen to three versions of the original song sung in Russian:

* Adult A cappella

* Children's Choir & Full Orchestra

* Дети Поют  (Children Sing)

Connection Refused

Jay stared at the stark wording on the screen.  He kept hoping that somehow against all odds, the result would be different.  Yet there the simple words appeared again:

     Could not connect to smtp.host (Connection refused)

He had already retried the application three times.  Yet in desparation, he pressed "connect" once again.

Still, the same forlorn results: Connection refused.

So much of society had become automated and interwired with electronic connections.  It had been so since the end of the Twentieth Century.  Jay had heard stories of what life was like before all this modern technology.  Old-timers, if given a chance, would regale the unsuspecting with tall tales of deprivation and great inconvenience in the era before instant communications.

But now!

Jay slapped the desk in frustration.

The interconnectivity has become increasingly sporadic.  Those in charge of the connections all pointed to a vague and mysterious threat that grew in complexity and depth, tying up the online connections thus multiplying the time it took to make a connection.  If a connection was made at all.

He had to get this information through to his reporting agency.  They were all counting on a timely brief of the situation under his care.  He looked at the clock.  He had five minutes before the information was due.

Again in desperation he pressed "connect" one more time.

Again the dispassionate wording came back on the screen: Connection refused.

Finally he pressed "print" then walked to the lone printer in his office.  Printers were a vestige of an ancient technology.  Nearly nothing was printed any more.  Everything was read on screens or electronic tablets or projected onto the field of vision within special interconnected glasses.  Printing anything was considered bad form, bad manners, and bad environmentally.

Yet, the nonconnectivity left him with no other choice.

He picked the paper up from the output tray then walked across the hallway to the reporting agency office with a minute to spare.