While Christmas has come and gone here in Lucca, there are still plenty of reminders: holiday lights still span the streets, and our Christmas tree ornaments still hang on our lovely tree pictured above. In the spirit of prolonging that Christmas magic for a little while longer, we wanted to share both our holiday highlights of spending Christmas in Lucca as well as our annual Christmas poem.
What was your favorite part about having Christmas in Lucca?
Five of Hearts: Of course I liked Santa coming, presents, stockings, the Christmas tree, decorations, and most of all family. But I really liked getting to check out all the new Christmas things (like the lights and the decorations and watching the ice skaters in Lucca).
Five Ball: I liked when we played Labyrinth as a family.
High Five: I loved when I ate all the dates and Mom told Nana about it, that I ate my brother’s dates. [Parental Note: Let’s hope this doesn’t become a pattern; stealing his brother’s dates in the future will likely lead to high tempers and broken hearts.]
Five Spice: My favorite part was our Christmas tree. We all had a blast making and hanging ornaments together, and the fact that our tree was a lamp made it super easy to light up without having to fuss over finding that one burned-out bulb in the string.
Five String: I loved listening to the church bells as they chimed on Christmas Eve with a special holiday vigor.
Walking backwards on the wall,
Against the flow of feet and time.
The season heeds the church bells’ call,
In tune with carols sung in rhyme.
Piles of leaves have ended fall;
Winter floats on breath that climbs.
Lights are strung across the street
Pavement sings with booted feet
As window shoppers make the beat,
Hot chocolate keeps the skaters warm
To carousels the children swarm
As Santa grins in local form.
Another lap, the lights all fade,
Candles glow in drafty rooms.
Roasted swans in pans are laid,
As silent fall the heavy looms.
Children laugh while lutes are played,
Feet on wooden platforms boom.
On Christmas Eve the twelve nights start
In trees are apples, red and tart
The Mass of Christ, a solemn heart,
Which soon gives way to revelry
As gifts are passed from old to wee
Like Magi on Epiphany.
Around again, on roads traversed,
By sandals marching out from Rome.
It’s Saturnalia, roles reversed,
With public feasts and gifts at home.
The first are last, the last are first,
Decree the gods beneath the dome.
Masters cleaning out the stable
Servants at the master’s table
Eating all that they are able,
Saffron cakes with honey sheen
Poets capturing the scene
The lares and sprigs of evergreen.
A stream of Latin flooding all,
Splashing with its rise and fall,
On wooden tablet, marble wall.
The ink descends, part glue and soot,
Tucked away, in tree roots put,
Stretching forwards, underfoot.