Almanack Contributor Annette Pisano-Higley

                                                      Middle Of

                                                 A Blackest Night,

                                             One Soul Did Light Up

                                          The Sky Within Plain Sight,

                                     Of Humble Shepherds Upon A Hill,

                                To Whom The Angelic Sounds Did Thrill,

                            They Lifted Their Heads, Midst Dozing Sheep,

                           To A Heraldic Chorus That Moved Them So Deep.

                       Then Gathering Staff And Flock, They Journeyed Afar

                     To Bethlehem, To The Holy Babe Sleeping Under The Star.

                   Falling Down Upon Their Knees, They Praised Him Full Well,

                                                       Infant King,

                                                       Savior Born,

                                                  That Blessed Noel.

Chilled breezes, like icy satin, awaken me from the vagaries,

That muddle one’s thoughts as sleep approaches.

Pungent aroma of smoky air drifting across sills, startles.

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