It’s not the same I say
As I watch the rain pour down
A week before we celebrate
The birth of the Lord our Saviour.
In this clammy climate,
The killer humidity,
Where sandals
Shorts and tee shirts are the norm.
It’s not the same I say
On a grey old rainy day
It doesn’t feel like Christmas
When the sun is so unbearable
And it doesn’t feel like Christmas
When it rains.
Back as a kid
In a colder land
When the snow was timed to fall,
Waiting at the window
My heart beating fast,
I would watch with growing wonder
The grey sky growing darker
The snowflakes fluttering by
And the trees and streets and pavements
Turn brilliant white.
The window ledge accumulates
An inch or two of snow
So I grab my coat and scarf and run outside
Jumping from a step
Onto a frozen sidewalk
I slid with ease
Into the freezing powdery snow
I scooped it up between my hands
With all the kids, running around
Falling and laughing, and screaming
And rolling and tumbling,
And all was well
With the world.
Christmas Eve
As nighttime falls
We leave
And meet others
Standing outside the church
The snow still fluttering down
Lit up in yellow by the light from the old rusty lamps.
It was always exciting
Waiting for midnight during a chilly sermon
When the lights were dimmed and the candles glowed
And we all sang Still The Night.
What was I then, maybe ten?
I remember it like it was yesterday
Pulling the wrappers apart
And the sweet smell from the coal fire,
Choirs in the background
From the TV flickering
Images of Bethlehem
Images that became memories
Became embedded in my reality
And I want that reality
Back now.
More than anything.
They’re all gone
Mom, Dad, Grandmother, Aunts,
Uncles and neighbors
My living past.
My living present is yearning
For a past long time gone
There’s no mystery now
In the rain
And the sun
But maybe I should remember
A child was born to a virgin
All alone in a manger
The greatest mystery of all
Still remains.
And the reason for each moment
Will become clearer in my prayers
And that day will come when
I will see the snow again.
Categories: Blog, Poetry, Religion, uncategorised
A Different Country 
Ye, i was in a warmer place for a while… I feel much more comfortable now that I’m back. However, it is not the same as my memory. My memory is all bound up with something I can’t remember, it wears the mask of the past. Thanks really enjoyed this.
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