A cold winter's...

There is magic in a cold winter's night. Especially late when it is blurring into morning, and the air is almost raw, but still dry. The stars shine more clearly, and memories of yesteryear flood. I mentioned once I how O Little Town of Bethlehem choked me up. But it isn't the last line that has me thinking of winter, but the first two: "O Little Town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie, and in thy deep and dreamless sleep, the silent stars go by." For some reason, this conjures of visions and emotions of Christmases past when everything was magical, and faith wasn't a struggle. Even in January, waking too early, a touch of the magic is waiting. The scientist in me longs to know more about the stars (although the realist in me knows it's numbers and math and computer programs nowadays), while the dreamer in me longs to tug and remove the veil and see the hope and promise tingling the back of my neck. But I can't. So I just soak in the cold magic and hope this tingly magical feeling is God's promise of more.