At Midnight

At midnight, on Christmas eve the beasts acquire the power of speech, and pray upon their knees.

But the birds and the beast don't need our words it's we who need to hear they praise the Lord from dawn to dusk on each day of the year.

Listen to the owl as she lays out her call so gently on the air or watch the hare as he skims the white field wrapped in his wonderful fur.

One Christmas eve two armies met and found they'd song in common: that silent night means stille nacht the night when Christ was born, the living Word, born every day expressed each moment newly inscribed within each DNA is Holy Holy Holy.

It's heard in the bark of the muntjac deer, in the beat of the swan's strong wings, in the bat's fine tune.

So let us all on Christmas even, bow down and hear the creatures who cannot choose but worship God, obedient to their natures.