We three kings

For me, the week between Christmas and New Year's Day always feels suspended in time-- between two celebrations, the time both flies and drags. Of course it isn't the same at all, but it feels something like the Saturday before Easter.  The big defining event is finished, but we haven't made the new start yet. 

I think the Journey of the Magi by T.S. Eliot might be the best poem ever written about spiritual transformation.  I read it every year.  Surrendering the old and familiar to embrace the unknown isn't so simple.  The first lines go like this:

'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'

Here's a couple of pictures from yesterday.  Fast-moving targets in a dark house are not conducive to good photography.