Christmas begins in the McKirachan house, after
Thanksgiving with the migration of angels, flocks of them, fleets of them, a
veritable population of the winged beings.
There is a troop of Santa’s too but the rooms are transformed by the
representations of the multi-dimensional messengers. It’s more than tradition, it’s like the
leaves changing color. It’s a seasonal
reality.
This year, after discussion with my wife, we decided to
begin the migration earlier. Such a
simple change. But it’s like a snow
storm in August. It’s unnatural. But
I’m sticking to it. The boxes and
tins are coming down from the attic. And
the messengers are intruding into our space.
I guess that’s what it’s all about.
Behold the days are coming.
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