NORTHERN ANNUNCIATION

It’s twenty below outside the window,
feathers of ice lay on the sill,
but this coffee shop is snug and warm.

Desipite the cold, main street is busy,
two weeks before Christmas,
carols are playing over the sound system.

This small northern town deep
in Canadian bush is swollen
with out-of-towners
here for the shopping.

We are such a small town,
only five thousand people,
but these visitors are awed,
tentitive, dressed in new clothes,
stiff and creased,
unfamiliar, unsophisticated,
hesitant at the coffee bar,
unsure how to proceed,
quietly looking about and watching.

They know why they are here:
from tree to tree,
there were whispers in the forest,
“the virgin has conceived”,
so to prepare, they have come.

I see the clearing in the bush,
the log barn and home-built house,
or shack, or trailer and shack.

They are back in town,
it’s been almost a year,
except for that one trip to the hospital,
when George got so bad.

Pounding music, even carols,
bright Christmas lights,
blinking,
choices,
so many choices in the stores,
confuse them, drive them away,
so thankful to return home
to the little baby in a manger,
until next year.


by c. van gorkom