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It’s tempting to neglect that
Rainbows tower over rain,
but we look down at times instead
of up, seeing only our pain.

Christmas comes around, a spirited
winter fiesta of lights and sound
to celebrate Solstice and Jesus,
cold weather games and the Word.

Good words are just that whether you
call yourself this or that, no matter
your religion or creed.  The joy we
give is found within, the snow

glistening in times forgotten, trying
in Turtle Island to make a go—
Calling it America, raising guns
and glasses against the darkness.

But it comes anyway; there is no
Daylight Savings that can alter
Nature; humanity asking you to
be a part of the sunshine that is…

Eternal life.  We are petty in our
self-pity, are wise to pound that water
back instead of flammable things,
Ask a Higher Power for help this

Christmas, and see the help as it
rains.  Back to the rainbow, a red
and green song by Nat King Cole,
our ancestors blending with theirs.

Imagine if we only asked the Indians
instead of taking.  Never take a step
in hurry or haste, recall our place,
ask before doing and the humble rock

of joy is ours to roll… Toward the
New Year, not “New York” and Times
Square, because really: There was nothing
wrong with the old York and no real

justification for taking Native American
land away, renaming it in European
images.  Crosses can be idols, too,
suffocating the natural water falls,

Rivers and Trees, whose songs will
continue to be sung forever.  I will
not die if in the face of pain I yelled out
joy; I cannot suffer long, if I take

the hand of help, only there if I call.
The joy we give, at Christmas or any
other day… is the eternal salvation
we miss staring at the bottle.

Merry Christmas, 2020, the best year
of my life.  Be not a slave to fear and
what has been, for the hope of all
mankind on earth for all times, let’s say:

Is not in a man, a woman, a report from
the news, a new road built or another
traffic jam.  All of our hope rests on one
single, solitary thing…