December 25, 2004
The trees still shimmer
with the breath of God.
Days ago He passed by
in the chill winter wind,
breathing soft upon the limbs
and boughs of saplings
and mighty ancient trees alike;
His breath, frozen in a moment.
Perhaps the evil one intended
to keep it impotent,
for it to return empty,
nay, for it to return
But the breath of God
is beyond the assaying
and whims of the accuser.
Frozen, yea, but frost upon frost,
ice upon ice,
glaze upon glaze produces prisms
so complete in their fashioning
that one wonders where source ends
and refraction begins.
This beauty is far too sophisticated
for one so at odds with virtue
to dim its splendor.
Nay, but the faintest light
of distant star or Guardian of Night
draws a twinkle into sight
from places where the breath of God
did deign to pass and mark His sigh.
How much more so on this,
the morn of Incarnation revealed,
does the light of day in prisms sway
and bring delight unto the eye.
Hardly did I mark the road
as I made my way across
the glimmering fields of Kentucky
to celebrate Nativity
among the Faithful.