O Come Again, Emmanuel!

A happy new year, like a gift leftover waiting to be opened,

nestles snugly under those pinecones and plaid ribbons that escaped

the great Christmas-put-away.

And, with boxes to the basement,

our former selves like decorations are set aside.

We've changed.

We may not think so, but we have.

The new date dictates facts without consent,

and time is not only a whole year older in a day, we're different.

The blessed kiss of Christmas has touched our souls for the umpteenth time

and left its romance behind.

Unlike the trappings of ornaments and tinsel,

this miracle doesn't come down from the tree.

We see Christmas as one storybook still waiting to be finished,

our new selves joining along on each freshly written page.

That old-new journal of love-come-down not only calls us, it needs our story told.

Each page turns like a pinecone seed left behind

to plant another Christmas.