The Christmas Season

Let us go together, you and I, and
listen to a tale of one season.
We’ll snatch a snippet of time with no before or after.
Then we’ll find a Christmas story needing no rhyme or reason.

His jacket pulled tightly around he feels a rush of cold air - grateful for his jacket’s warmth and his long bushy hair.

He walks swiftly over crumpled brown leaves - for a moment he notices how they crunch under his feet.  

He enjoys the smell.  It reminds him of the season. A sense of late autumn aroused by leafy aroma.

In his mind he assumes the leaves are dead, not knowing they are vibrantly alive.  Their time is always now.

Their now is nurturing the soil
Offering their seasonal oblation

To all of this …
                He is oblivious.

He has worries and plans. There’s too much to do.  Not enough time.

His time swirls - future, past, present - anticipating, remembering, worrying.  

His world churns, twirls and turns. There is no still point.

He hears a carol and pauses. It sounds glorious yet so far away.  Ungraspable.  

The season and the carols - inscrutable.  They carry that peace beyond understanding.  

Listen, listen the carols herald -
Feel the still point of the turning world.