Silent Night

He felt the snow still, and it was cold and impossibly white on his hand as it dotted the church and village below.

He felt the snow on his face now, as a fist decked him to the forest floor.

“From your father.” His attacker reported in a voice new and clear as the snow.

“From our father.” He continued, kicking snow over the black-cloaked man on the forest floor.

“From your mother.” He said placing a set of dust white olive branches on the ground.

“From your brother.” He opened his arms, displaying himself as both gift and gift bearer.

“And from me.” He placed a single bottle of wine, a ground apple, and a loaf of bread upon the snow in a basket.

“Merry Christmas.” And a cloud hid the attacker from the man’s view, now alone on the forest floor.

The bell tolled 12 times in the town and the man ate and drank for a moment. When the sun came he would be banished from this place, but for just this silent night, eternity vanished from him, and he found the snow melting down his face.