The tell tale romance of man with his story. Told as elder to wide-eyed waiting youth. Himself the center of a carefully designed universe meant to elevate and encapsulate the glory of fiery persona. A hill upon which he could never fail, as if growing directly from the ground and flying through the windy seeds of whirling clouds.

Masterful, intentional, irredeemable by quest or understanding. When paupers wrote of heroes, moored in the memories of mind and deed. He pronounced his name so slowly neatly sown to the tapestry remanded for cold castle walls of centuries passed. Nothing but time owned his mortar and gravity gave him respect.

In mercy’s hope he repelled to low hanging window, chancing a glimpse or wink or just be known. In the dust covered barn yard animals waited. Some skyward facing others bowed in humble majesty of moments intensified by repeated fables come true. Relaxed in the revelation of his loose grip upon sovereignty.

Standing or kneeling before the origin of all, words were unnecessary and love unfamiliar, yet it seemed now his only weapon or offering. What dance, song or dream would appropriate, he was undone. The robe meant to keep him warm, an offense as this child lay in straw before him. It found its perfect place to wrap the swaddle.

No thought left standing, all naked, not hiding in pride or lust for bounty but remade in root, branch, and fruit for eternity. They spoke and sang and gave recounting each day grander than the last. Trying to retell each minute detail to stretch the mind’s eye of all who listened. It never grew old this blessing, a collection of moments meant only for beloved.

Yet, all were welcomed this night, this holy night of exoneration, joy and hope as rain falls on windy mountain the quiet calm of hearts stood awe-stricken. The donkey’s cry made somber. The men brought to supplication and calm. Something than the choir of banded angels. To speak into life that the light had finally come to all.