Dillard writes a lot about dreams in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Dreams are the things of hope and despair, love and war. Dreams drive human beings to write poetry and recite prayers. They bring saints closer to God, and children closer to angels.
Tomorrow night, the whole world will be dreaming of one thing: Saint Marty's Day. All the craziness will be over--the shopping and decorating and baking and gift wrapping. Church bells will peal, and the faithful will make their way to worship services, wearing their Saint Marty's Day finest. Peace will settle on the planet, and tapioca will be bubbling in pots on stoves.
Tomorrow night, on Saint Marty's Day Eve, I plan to listen to my favorite album of Saint Marty's Day music. Celine Dion singing classics like "Silent Night, Marty Night" and "Ave Marty-a." I may indulge in some Diet Mountain Dew, a traditional Saint Marty's Day beverage. The lights on the tree will spark ruby and emerald and topaz in the darkness.
One day left. Less than 36 hours.
Dreams of Saint Marty's Day dancing in everyone's heads.
In the Bleak Mid-Autumn
In the bleak mid-autumn
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Leaves had fallen, leaf on leaf,
Leaf on leaf,
In the bleak mid-autumn
Long ago.
What can I give him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man
I would do my part;
Yet what I can, I give him -
Give my heart. And tapioca.
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| Aaaaaaave Martyyyyyyyy-a . . . |
I confess - my tapioca will come from the store, premade. Otherwise though, St. Marty day will be strong in my heart and home.
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