I use to look up to lightning and ask it to give me a sign.

Every single time, the unpatterned electricity dazes the sky.

I love lighting.

It brings me peace.

I love lighting.

The natural off-pink it paints above

I could be killed.

and still smile as I sink into a dry sea of pavement.

Lightning gives me a sign to keep going.

Each mumble and crash it releases

Knowing that it will never touch me

Sadness and thunder are the like circles overlapping.

Both are shaking in grief.

As the world seem too much for them

The two circles seem to go round and round.

Dying down and exploding that appear to go on for hours

Some people put their knees to their chest.

As the circles whirl around each other

Shaking as they drain energy

Storms could never go on forever.

They may look like they will never end.

But they always do

I still look up to dry lightning and ask for a sign.

Mother Nature kindly responds.

You are loved.

-K.J.K.

If you’re looking for yuletide cynicism here,
you’re shopping in the wrong place.

This is New York City’s time of year.
It’s stood the test of time and it fairly sparkles,
proving that the ordinary can be extraordinary.
With the right lighting.

Lisa’s (parent’s) apartment glitters like our promised heaven on high.
When we left at Thanksgiving, Michael (Lisa’s dad) had the concierge
service stressed, toting boxes of decorations up from their storage area.
When I waved my goodbyes, he appeared to be wrestling an octopus of
cool-white fairy lights into submission. Now everything glitters pyrite bright.

Our holiday time is limited—and this is our chance to unwind—so we’re
selective about what we decide to embrace. For instance, there was a sale
at Michael Kors where, no big deal, I got a pair of brogue, black
leather wingtips that’ll be straight fire with a little black dress.
The bargains were so good that I decided the store must be a drug front.
Not that I’m complaining. Do I ever complain? Nope, I’m stoic.

Like Eric Adams, the mayor of New York, Lisa and I’ve
been “testing the product” of Manhattan's club scene.
We’re searching diligently for the new and unfamiliar.

When it comes to picking which clubs we want to visit,
Charles, our driver and escort (a retired NYPD cop),
has gone as far as to suggest, we’re “out of our depth,”
and refused to let us even try one or two DJ’d, pop-up clubs
in Queens that were getting a lot of heat and likes.
“Roosevelt Avenue is the new 42nd Street,” he’d said.
What does that even mean??
Indignant silence

Anyway,
I hope Christmas finds you all merry and bright and that your holidays—whichever you celebrate— are carnivals of food, music, friendship and love—for those are the luxuries that count the most.
Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Merry Kwanzaa, Happy Festivus!
.
.
Songs for this:
Absolutely Everybody by Vanessa Amorosi
Rock With You by Traincha
.
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A Christmas Playlist—because there's 4 days til Christmas
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_28.mp3

Lighting strikes at the base of my roots.
It climbs up my limbs
Charring my flesh It bites into me
Chewing my nerves
Stabbing needles into my veins
I cannot move.
I am intertwined with this place.
I am bound here.
Lightning does not strike once.
It strikes again.
Again.
And again.
And every time, It is excruciating.

Tap Tap Tap
As each droplet falls

Tap Tap Tap
As the storm moves closer

Tap Tap Tap
A flash a light in the distance

Tap Tap Tap
The sky grows dark

Tap Tap Tap
Moments of brightness

Tap Tap Tap
The thunder follows each

Tap Tap Tap

It’s dark- but for now it’s light
I blame it on the lightning strike
It flashes so big and oh so bright
Then all at once it’s out of sight

In the bottom of the river
There is my shadow
Clear as day
The water crystal
How God creates
The best art.
Where I am just a mortal
Artist.