Lifetimes lived secreted
behind the wooly frames of memory.

We jog the frames
of Christmases past.

Scents of
pine boughs and holly berries,
mince pies and cranberries.

Sounds of
apple crisp snow and crackling fires,
and laughter.

And the sound of silence,
as love stretches through all dimensions
to encircle Thee and Me.

As real, as tangible,
as the star beams
on the evergreen.

A promise given and kept.

Do you hear the angels?