I stayed up late on Christmas Eve.
I didn’t really consider why, but I didn’t want to go to bed until late.
Maybe I was waiting for Santa.
I filled the woodstove, to combat the night’s chill.
I waited for the fresh logs to burn hot enough so I could damp the stove down.
I took pictures while waiting.
For a while I “focused” on a gift for my wife.
Crumpled tissue paper decorated the top of her package.
Tissue paper is so thin as to be translucent.
The tissue, so thin and small, took on a new life and scale.
With no size reference, the miniature can be monumental.
To move even slightly is to see an entirely different scene.
There were geographies in the opacities of folds and tranlucities of thinness.
There were cities of treelights.
Were they cities?
Maybe they were stars?
Or galaxies, light years away, seen by telescope.
Or as of creatures of our oceans’ abysses.
Phosphorescent creatures, living forever beyond the reach of the sun.
Creatures whose only speech is light.