BLIZZARD

 We sit in our homes, cuddled before a fire or under a blanket - snug as a bug in a rug.  Outside, the wind is whistling through the trees, gusting with all it's might, trying to tear flags to shreds.  The snow is icy hard, being blown like the dust from a box in the attic.  The streets, though plowed, glisten with their underlayment of ice.    

It's a good day to stay indoors.  

Many locals are without power.  I fear for them but while pondering what I would do if that were me, my mind goes to them without a home at all.   Have all the homeless found shelter?  I pray they have.

Then my mind wanders to a child; born in a cave in which cattle find feed and find shelter from the weather.  What child is this?  

♫ What child is this, who laid to rest on Mary's lap, is sleeping?   Whom angels greet with anthems sweet, while shepherds watch are keeping?  Why lies He in such mean estate, where ox and ass are feeding?  Good Christian, fear; for sinners here, the silent Word is pleading.  So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh, Come, peasant, king, to own Him; The King of Kings salvation brings, Let loving hearts enthrone Him.  

This, this is Christ the King, whom shepherds guard and angels sing.  Haste, haste to bring him laud, the babe the son of Mary.  ♫