In the Oxfam bookshop I come across a book on Essential Oils, which will make a good present for someone I know who likes using such things. As it is nearly Christmas, I look up two oils, which have a seasonal ring. Frankincense, I learn, is "a tonifying oil with anti-inflammatory and astringent qualities.... It imparts a calming and uplifting effect, while at the same time increasing energy". Myrrh is "strengthening and highly antiseptic... It is an excellent expectorant." The three wise men would have been wise enough to refrain from explaining the virtues of their gifts in the stable.
Above the station clock, and later, as I walk home, over the Grove, the new moon hangs like a nail-pairing in the translucent sky.
A notice in the station warns: "Please be aware of tripping hazards."
2 comments:
'Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume...' I always liked that verse. They used it for embalming of course.
Was it not the old moon in fact?
A huge box in Tesco bearing the words "Live flowers. Open immediately" communicates a genuine feeling of unease
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