This was my Christmas tree one year;
it was never planted, never nourished, never harvested, and never sold.
The clouds were the boughs;
The sun, moon, and stars were the lights of the tree.
The sand and water were the skirt.
The ornaments and tinsel were
the endless horizon,
the sound of crashing waves upon the shore,
the smell of the ocean air,
the gulls fluttering about,
and the pelicans gliding over the blue while
the water and sand mingled with my toes.
It felt so refreshing to feel the warm ocean breeze
caressing my face in the face of Winter.
So unaccustomed was I
of a palm-like Christmas.
This tree was different than all the trees of
Christmas past,
but the Gift has never changed from year to year.
Hosannah! Hope was born from the House of Bread
for anyone who sought after Him
from any terrain found on terra firma.
