Sunny Side Up Dec. 11, 2002 �2002, Kathleen Gibson Take time to enjoy the Christmas sky I�ve been gazing skyward, of late. Land of the living skies, my licence plate reads, and those skies have lifted my thoughts to God each time I look up. My computer is near a large window. Tree branches fill the glass square, and the occasional smoke-puff from my chimney snakes over the lip of the roof and hurries away. The sky is serene today. Baby-blue and cloudless. But how it changes. I often miss the sunrise. Most of my days are launched with far too great a velocity. But today I headed out, toward the blushing east, down alleys dusted with hoar frost and fragrant with woodsmoke. The sky splashed golden-pink over even my boots as I made my way to alley�s end and back again. At home I noticed that the sun chose not to wear pink the rest of the day, and I thanked God for sending me, so early, such beauty. On the November night that God scheduled the Leonids meteor shower, for the second year running, I tiptoed out to the backyard at three a.m. Scanning the velvet above, I searched for those blazing tails that had so enthralled me a year earlier. Not a cloud in the sky. Not a meteor either. Well, a teeny, faded one. A wisp in a hurry. But it didn�t matter. The north star glowed more brightly than an engagement ring in a convent. The full moon grinned at the Little Dipper as it poured its bounty into Ursula Major. Cheeky moon, I thought, pre-empting the Leonids like that. For half an hour I walked in the glow of those heavenly lights, then returned home to thaw out in bed. And lay there wondering why I don�t make more time for the glory of the night. Another day, another sky. An evening sky this time, and striped. Most definitely striped. As striped as the awning outside a Paris caf�. Magenta, rose, blood red, grape purple, steel gray. Clouds traversed the horizon in precise lines, as though God had dipped each finger in the paint pots of heaven, and idly drawn them in unison across the prairie landscape. A brisk December wind lifted my hair, extended it straight out�another horizontal stripe against the sky�s canvas. I fetched my Christmas tree from a farmer�s field that evening. Scrub willow, its bare branches revealing the lovely foundation of springs� beauty. Back home I added three soaring eagle ornaments and a long strand of white lights. And stood remembering the sight of those branches silhouetted against that striped sky like black lace. My licence plate is right. This is the land of a living sky. But when I gaze into those skies, I know something else. They�re the skies of a living God, the page upon which he chose to proclaim the birth of his Son to commoners like me two millennia ago. This Christmas, make time to enjoy the skies. And may the glory of the Lord shine round about you, too. Email your own thoughts on this column to [email protected] |
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