A cold coming...

The sky became a painting at sunset, with colors as rich as silk tassels on a camel's reins.  Cold air now stirs the wind chimes, and with my eyes closed the sound becomes bells on those same bridles, and I can see them journeying through field and fountain, moor and mountain, heavy-laden with gifts...

If there are stars tonight, they are bundling up against the chill under a blanket of increasing clouds.  Thank goodness the sages from the East are safely ensconced in the carpenter's modest home, their feet by the fire, their velvets and furs filled with sawdust, their eyes creased with warm laughter as they watch the child play.

They will dream tonight of kings and warnings, stars and journeys, even as we dream of snow.  Tomorrow when they wake, tomorrow when we wake, what will the world look like?

Journey of the Magi
by T.S. Eliot

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melted snow.
There were times when we regretted
The summer palaces on the slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbert...
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wineskins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory...