THOUGHTS OF A POET IN THE RAIN

And so it came to pass in those days following the birth of Jesus that lesser angels sat with wings tucked and watched from atop mountains and housetops as innocents were slain in Herod’s great search for the baby born to be King of Kings. Micah was one such angel, and he spoke to those close to him while he sat hunched against the chill wind that swept unprotected hills and over the towns roofs and down passageways empty of those who lived there who hid behind locked doors afraid to venture out into the dark of night. “Friends,” he said softly, aware that thinking such was likened to harboring dangerous thoughts, “is that not Joseph, Mary, and the Babe moving slowly below us on the path towards Egypt?”

The others nodded in affirmation over this fact.  “And yet, I find it interesting that he who is our master should allow his human born son, blessed inheritor of one of the three, to go forth with no protection. And so it is that the mother flees with the child to protect that which God created but will not protect while innocents die.”

He turned and looked to the  others who sat still watching him as the dark of night closed about them.