This Christmas,

the eightieth of my sojourn on
this blessed earth
a miracle,
albeit a small one,
occurred.

Through the rapidly shortening days of
November and into December
we watched our Florida garden
as an ancient pink azalea,
shaded from the sun by a tall orange tree,
struggled to produce
the blossoms which always came in January.

This year,
in the garden,
as I read about St. Luke’s words
describing the Christ child’s
birth in Bethlehem,
the pink azalea bloomed
and blossomed on Christmas Eve.

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