On a cold, snowy, December evening
the sheep from the surrounding pastures
seem to stand around the old, wooden church
in the middle of the green, pine woods.
Its windows are lit by candlelight
as the congregation sings 'Silent Night.'
If you look inside, you see children
playing Mary and Josef, the shepherds,
the wise men, standing around a cradle
placed before an altar
covered with Poinsettias.
A Christmas tree lit by strings of white lights
brightens the darkness,
and you hear a voice saying:
'I bring you tidings of great joy,
which shall be for all people,
for unto you is born this day
a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.'
The snow falls silently
like manna from heaven,
transforming the world.
All is calm. All is bright.
Above your head, the stars glitter
like a choir of angels.
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Author Notes
This is the last poem of Carolina Pastorals. I wanted to end the book with that image of the angels in the glittering stars on Christmas Eve, over the old church singing Silent Night. More than anything, I wanted to capture that uplifting feeling I have always felt on all those Christmas Eve services I have attended over the decades; cold, clear nights in New York, when the stars seemed to echo the choir of angels on that first Christmas Eve 2,000 years ago. The tree my father and uncle would decorate with strings of white lights next to the altar, and the old Christmas carols that I still love to hear, that seem to capture the sublimity of Christmas. O Little Town of Bethlehem, We Three Kings, and Hark the Herald Angels Sing. I hope you enjoyed the book, to all who supported it over the course of the year, along with the prose of Intersections, I give my thanks. Next year I will outline the two books I will post in 2021; Apocolypse on the poetry side, and Memories of This World in prose. Till then, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year and hope all of you stay well and have a blessed holiday season. estory
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