Winter record cold
Near-record snowfall,
But snow, dry.
Spring, dry,
Summer, dry,
Autumn, dry.
Would leaves turn
Brown, curl up,
Blow away in fall
Winds and rains?
But no!
Brilliant red maples,
Scarlet and crimson,
Neighbors
Orange, yellow, peach.
Fall fashion show followed:
Ash and poplar in yellow,
Birch in burnished gold.
Oaks appeared last in
Russet and burgundy.
Mid-November mountainsides
Still sported coats of
Many colors.
But ‘twas apple trees spoke
Of Advent,
Apple trees sang
Of Christmas.
Old apple trees,
Several each mile along
Country roads,
Old apple trees scattered in
Abandoned fields,
Some barren as long as Elizabeth,
Bearing fruit.
Apples, hundreds of apples on
Each tree,
Limbs bowed to the ground as if
To present
Their gifts to the Christ-Child.
Never red were redder,
Yellow more yellow,
Gold more gold.
Some dropped apples
Before leaves
Making a skirt of
Red or yellow
As if for a Christmas tree.
Others dropped leaves
Before apples –
Barren trees decorated with
Gold, red, yellow balls.
But some trees kept
Apples and leaves,
Apple leaves
More golden than I can
Remember.
Bright red apples
Hung amid leaves of
Gold.
No Christmas tree in
Rockefeller Plaza
Or White House lawn
More glorious.
If the leaves of autumn
Proclaim his Advent,
If the apple trees
Celebrate his birth
From August into
December, then
Who am I to
Protest
The premature singing of
Carols,
The wreaths of fir,
The holly and ivy,
Following close in the wake of
Thanksgiving.
This year in Maine nature
Celebrated Christmas,
Not “In Bleak Mid-winter,”
But in spectacular autumn.
Was creation not the first
Christmas
When all the stars
Sang
Together as God
Created the world,
When God first
Descended to earth and
Walked
Among trees of Eden?
And is Christmas
Not the healing of
Creation
When all the angels
Sang,
“Peace on earth,
Good will to all,”
And the Word became
Flesh
And dwelt among us?
As every Sunday
Is Easter,
Let every day
Be Christmas,
A day
To sing with joy,
To hope against hope,
To practice peace,
To love with abandon.
This we wish for you
This Christmas,
This season of
Christmas,
This year of
Christmas.
Gary Vencill
December 2015