To hem their blessings with thank you.
To pray, not just with mouth but from the depths of their hearts.
That was their plan to herald “The Big Day”, the day the Good Lord was born.
The Big Day – when the weather would turn and the days would begin to lengthen again. Or rather used to.
The days were changing. So were weathers. And what were the mortals to make out of the ways of nature.
It had never been so cold before.
The rain mixed with snow was numbing. Snow at merely 3000ft above sea level.
Now who could have thought of that.
So the winters would stay. It was just the beginning.
And so they layered themselves up, wearing literally thick blankets, while trying to hasten about their daily errands and while trying to be in time for the holy get-together.
Amidst the numbing cold, the township was bustling with festivities. Gaiety and merriment turned the somber dull winters to bright bubbling arroyos.
… Their choirs are singing,
Till the air, everywhere, now their joy is ringing.
Cold tried to tie them down. They tied back the cold.
The congregation was yielding thanks and singing praise to Lord Almighty.
Sub zeros melted with the warmth of their hearts.
… With ever joyful hearts,
And blessed peace to cheer us,
And keep us in his grace
And guide us when perplexed
And free us from all ills
In this world and next.
But not all celebrate. Not all herald peace.
There always is a spoil sport.
He came and genuflected before the altar.
And while others were imploring with closed eyes, he thanked the missionaries who had readied him for the day.
He felt exalted. Proud of the contribution he was making.
Mechanically, he touched a button on his jacket.
The echoes of his prayer boomeranged for a while.
And then sirens took over.
The sanctum was silent now.
Tattered shreds of life, all beyond mending, lay strewn in the pews.
The Big Day had arrived.
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