My heart calls for snow

in the Christmas air, but it’s too

warm, so nothing is white.

The grass in the yard looks like straw.

 

Thin branches sway in the breeze,

while the sky remains gray. There are no

stars, of course, by day,

yet it is dark enough for candles

 

and for the herald of candle flames

to proclaim our celebration

of God’s Holy Promise—

immaculate and earth-born.  He is

 

Emmanuel every day.