Are we not,
are we not all,
a guilty reflection
of all the work our hands have done.
Are we still,
Are we still when we hear the call
of the land
of promises yet to unfold.
A solitary snow flakes from overhead.
The clouds in heaven
roil the ocean’s breath together
as water crystals break
into perfect symmetrical shapes
Are we not and are we still?
Are we washed when we lay in the snow?
Leaving angels behind
as we frantically wave our arms,
in a white bed of ice, cold.
Is the impression there
an image of me,
of what is left when I am clean?
The chorus of heaven sings,
In my mind there is a song,
“Holy, holy, holy”
as each snowflake falls.
Living in a mobile home means that having a Christmas tree in your house is not an easy option. It’s possible. I’ve done it, but it’s just not an easy option. This year the trouble was not worth the reward and so now in the house all that is lit is a heavily decorated 18″ high plastic tree. It’s the center piece of a small end table. Surrounding the tree are candles, a nativity scene made of porcelain, and one of those plastic motion flowers that sway back and forth when the sunlight hits them. The tree’s decorations are lots of little balls, of different colors, a string of red beads, lights, and of course a star on top. The tree being there reminds me of poverty but that’s not its intention. I’m sure the intention is to be decorative for people, like my mom, who enjoy setting up Christmas scenes all over their house. The area our tree occupies is the grandest scene here while a second porcelain nativity scene occupies space on the other side of a partitioning wall separating the living room from the kitchen. The tiny decorated tree is our holiday centerpiece and this year and though the decorations come and go the “reason for the season” is eternal.