Christmas Tree

WE set up the tree,
Last night,
Untangling the Christmas lights,
Twirling gold-and-purple beads round and round.
Laughing,
Joy to the World on the CD player.

And then the ornaments.
All the little twisty bits, and old homely decos, and mini-stars and pretty ribbons,
All merry,
And all the balls, gleaming red and yellow
In the orange glow of the lights.

And yet, one little b ll.
Translucent white,
Without any glaze,
Without any glow,
No colors,
No sprinkle of shiny dust fresh from the factory.

But I like it.
Even if it was so lonely.
And I liked it.

Because it was so plain.

And for its white, opaque-plastic innocence
Looking so pure (I lack a better word).

Like a Virgin moved by a God beyond Comprehension,
Like a Dove,
Like a Baby, wrapped in dirty linens and worn second-hand cloths.

Then the vision faded.

And we stood back to smile at the
Tree
We had set up.