Sometimes I live in a Norman Rockwell painting . . .
Wintertide – gathering of a community on the court
house square at dark – prayer beside the nativity,
Christmas carols strummed on guitar and sung by a dad,
his 7-year-old daughter accompanying him on the fiddle,
her high notes keeping pace . . . hand bells rung by the
faithful bell choir of the church next door, ringers in
winter coats with ear muffs . . . Twas the Night Before
Christmas told to the young ones by the local beloved
kindergarten teacher, recently widowed yet ever-present
with the love shining out of her like its own North Star . . .
folks greeting each other in the cold . . . Kane scooting
from place to place to get the good shots – there are so
many – like the kids all dropped down inside the court
house after, plopped into place enjoying their hot chocolate
and cookies . . . friends standing close to keep me warm,
having forgotten the obvious rule that it gets cold when the
sun goes down in these mountains . . . even if only for a
moment, mountain men with pony tails pulled through
their ball caps and city slickers enjoying the picturesque-
ness of it all stand side by side enjoying a bit of peace on earth
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