And she, bright of spirit and fair of face, loves to soar through the night in those magical hours before Christmas dawn…loves to dance with the joyful music, in many tongues and many guises, that colors and warms the late December air.
And she, loved and loving, loves to take a brief respite from the heavens and come down to Earth, where the prayers and dreams and sleepy giggles of the children are as clear to her as thunder…as clear to her as tender whispers. She loves to slip the bonds of welcome duty and devotion and come down to Earth, reveling in the sweet magic of the sweetest and most magical of nights.
On the night of nights, an angel takes a brief break and, with her enigmatic eyes and boundless heart, savors the promises of peace and love, sugarplums and lingering hugs, of the Yuletide eve. And she loves it more than mere mortal words could properly express.
And she, fleet of foot and strong of heart, pauses high above the heart of a great city and lets her powerful eyes go softly opaque as she takes in the tableau of the Christmas Eve night: children murmuring conspiratorially in their beds, quite unable to sleep; mothers and fathers planning Christmas dinners and gamely trying to decipher arcane instructions for constructing toys; last minute shoppers rushing and cursing their last minute foolishness; lovers enjoying quiet fires and warm brandy; faithful souls gathering in the houses of the Lord for communion and succor.
She sees it all…hears it all…feels it all down to the core of her very soul…and it all makes her smile.
On the night of nights, an angel gives wing to her imagination and to her heart and she soars from one corner of the world to the next and back again. And in the night she embraces the spirit and power of Christmas and lets it wash through her being as it will.
And then, as the dawn begins to peek over the far horizon, she sighs contentedly and takes wing for the heavens that are her home…takes wing for the heart of the universe that is her home and ours as well.
Soft is the winter’s morning…warm and golden, bright and bracing…so very soft. Christmas morns are ever that way.
And she, bright of spirit and fair of face, slips the bonds of dreamtime and smiles warmly and waits patiently. And in time the beautiful woman, her mother, comes in to collect her.
“How is my angel, this beautiful Christmas morning?” her mother coos in a voice warm as sunshine and sweet as honey, “How’s my beautiful Supergirl?”
And she, the baby girl with enigmatic eyes and a boundless heart, smiles her secret smile and gurgles happily allowing a dream of flying through the Christmas night to brighten her heart in ways that she as yet has no mortal words for. And the morning is full of love and the promise of a boundless, peaceful future. Christmas Days are ever like that
- for Shelby Elise (Papa’s Girl) -
******
On an entirely different note, the infamous (well, at least amongst family and friends :-) Star Trek fan fiction Xmas tale I wrote years ago is, if you're interested in that sort of silliness, posted here.
No comments:
Post a Comment