Reindeer kneel in snowbanks far away;
Polar bears sleep on ice in northern twilight.
Here, the white bells of the manzanita
Have already awakened, and pink primroses,
Sweeter than dawn, grace our days.
On a long and generous afternoon,
Wild pigeons feed beneath the redwoods,
And high in her unseen retreat,
The dove calls in a voice softer
Than the kiss of holy water
Or a kind thumb’s touch
With healing oil.
Her carol harkens us to something
Lost in winter’s dream—
The scent of myrrh under a dark pine,
The fragrance of frankincense
And the circle of golden light
A single candle can create.
The Feast of the Epiphany: Northern California
Provide feedback on this article
The latest from america
The day before he died, Pope Francis made one final circuit through St. Peter’s Square in his popemobile. “That’s my last image of him alive,” Gerry O’Connell remembered. “He drove among the people.”
Universities need to change. But Trump is attacking the wrong problems.
Editor in chief Sam Sawyer, S.J., reflects on praying with Pope Francis’ body in St. Peter’s Basilica.
Just about two weeks before he died, Francis announced that Archbishop-elect McKnight will be the next archbishop of Kansas City, Mo., and that Bishop Lewandowski will become the next bishop of Providence, R.I.