Christmas in the Heavens and Earth

As the December night’s breeze caresses my face
Like a kind old woman greets an infant child,
The stars tell me a story that only my soul can understand.

Not the roar and bright lights from an airplane,
Not the twang and honking noises from a car,
Not even the quiet houses
(With backyards of freshly cut grass and pruned trees that tell their own
Story of sanctity, security and serenity),
Nor the damp shadowy alleys behind lighted buildings beckoning for paint
(Which also say a dissimilar story of unwarranted encounters),
Keep us from reality,
From the truth that has always been,
Far beyond our humble beginnings,
And still present,
No mater how presumptions we may become.

Those people in the airplane,
In the car,
In the houses,
In the buildings,
And in the alley are shown what I am.
And so I remind you.
(as does the freshly cut grass and pruned trees.)
 

by Celia A. Escalante