I have walked abroad on Christmas night, and in the silence of the cold, felt the warmth of brilliant lights gleaming from windows and rooftops, as they twinkled on freshly fallen snow. Shuffling my boots through several inches of winter white made little or no noise and the sighing of a whispering breeze through pines and between houses took over, singing a carol that coldly caressed my face and hands. The touch of snowflakes on my face felt like the feather touch of Christmas lights reaching out to welcome my spirit and warm my soul. I felt I could fly, borne aloft on lights alone.
Alas, Christmas walkabout will remain only a memory this year, as we can't have old Mick tottering about in the snow after dark. Yet, were I to fly home, I would love that it be on a crisp, cold Christmas night and that I be carried home on the red and green and golden beams that break from a thousand gleaming windows on the eve of peace and love.
Through all the piercing cold and precious chill,
And all a winter's night of silence beamed,
The wondrous warmth and distant twinkling thrill,
Of lights all red and green and gold, which gleamed
Upon the road ahead's unbroken white.
Snow softly silenced footsteps as he tread,
And gazed at icy darkness, pierced by light
That danced upon his path, as forward lead
He felt the ancient night of love embrace,
His heart and spirit dancing in his chest;
And with the Christmas lights upon his face,
He softly flew home to his blessed rest.