Despite the title, this is a Christmas poem. I wrote it several years ago about the joy and anticipation I felt, as a child, at this time of year. This was embedded in family and community rituals I experienced growing up. In a consumptive and materialistic world, some of this has been lost. What I do is hold onto the memories.
We lived in an old house and it was often very cold. In the evenings, my mother and three older brothers went across the street to the church for evening mass. This was part of the rite of passage for me. In junior high, I joined them.
Many evenings, I sat by the heavily frosted window to watch my mother and brothers return. Some of those evenings were clear, the sky filled with stars, and sometimes the Northern Lights were part of Nature’s light show.
Breathlessly awaiting,
Through frosted window peering
Small children–
Soaking it in.
Heavens rippling–
Lights undulating;
A celebratory fury
An indisputable guide.
An old house speaking;
Nature answering–
The heavens crackling
Sweet symphonic music.
Earth’s floor–
Blanketed in white
Celestial colours shimmering
Capturing young eyes.
A vivid winter scene,
A sensual, sensory palette,
Reminding–
Christ’s Mass draws near.
I took this picture at the farm this past weekend. The sun goes down early here at this time of the year. They had just had fresh snow, with about 8-10 inches falling in one day, so the scene was still quite untouched.