so what do angels do after all of the hark heralding and heavenly hosting? 

after all of the fear not and beholding of glad tidings ...

dishes to wash?

cleaning up, taking out the trash?

lying down to rest their weary etheric limbs,

only to get up and do it all over again next year?

it is far more likely, 

caring for the human versions of themselves

—such as they do—

more likely they are harking it up 

constantly, loudly, insistently,

but we only hear them the one day or

one hour we are listening for them ...

and they are singing out this second

to Love on everyone, everything, everywhere, 

all the livelong day

and all through the night.

snow falling on the river

swirling on banks and trees

on fences and rocks 

on ribbons and garlands on the porch 

each tiny crystal settling to earth and home

with a sigh 

the wind finds its voice 

a shimmering powder cloud is whispered up and then resettles over the shoulders of the earth

over field and hill

over railing and porch 

shifting and molding lines with white fingers, 

rounding edges, smoothing surfaces,

a soft accord of mind and body, 

of houses and barns and baseball fields

in a grand unison of winter 

there is magic here

glinting with wonder 

pooling in mystery

desiring to be desired

there being so much Love,

whether bleakness or joy presides,

let this day be a Psalm for all of it—

a warmth of snow

on granite walls and bare birch,

and breath enough

for singing out the heart.

You are an extraordinary spark

igniting your little part of the world— 

coming here to create,

to bring energy and healing—

to push the edge of Good forward

with your own unique gifts of the spirit.

We are all the same under the skin,

each of us part of the divine flow

that moves light and being 

to become a higher version of everything—

a creative vanguard 

in a world expanding

to be more than dust

and wind and water—

to be the healing reach of Love  

in a universe of Want.