I’m certain there wasn’t any tinsel.
Cobwebs, yes, and straw and hay
and animal breath cutting through
the air in great vaporous clouds
unlike the still clear night outside
where the old dog fox’s bark
and the frith and wisp of winter
left that large silent star undimmed.
I’m sure there weren’t candles.
That one bright star filled the stable
with such a light that each ox
and each ass and all those
sheep and watchful shepherds
were able to bow before the babe
without upstaging the angel
of the Lord in all its glory.
I saw no mistletoe, no decked halls
and no scented pine to override
the comforting bedding smells
of that small stable’s inmates.
There were no bells to ring out wildly.
Only the intimate hush of shifting
hooves brushing through the deep litter
broke that awed, hallowed silence.
No mince pies either, nor carolers
standing out in the snow though
I did hear occasional bovine lowing,
and saw an abundance of foreign kings,
their milling camels adorned in tassels,
and the woman, the sore-footed man,
and the newly born child all alert
to day’s dawning as the cock crowed.
© Catherine Nicholls
Picture 10003443, French postcard, 1908, image copyright Mary Evans
Catherine Nicholls has lived in the Dark Sky Reserve of the Exmoor National Park for over 20 years. Without the diversions of bright lights and shopping malls she quickly turned to writing poetry to while away the long winter nights. Before moving to Exmoor she farmed in mid-Devon for many years. She is a member of the North Devon Poets @NorthDevonPoet.
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