It was a cold, crisp December day, a strange element in
southern Texas. Almost like the stillness that presages a soft, gentle
snowfall dropping to blanket the earth with a fresh, pristine blanket of
whiteness. Into this cold came heroes, carrying ornaments, ribbons, and a
wondrous tree. Julie and her husband bundled their daughter up and brought
her the many miles to assemble the dream being made reality. From an
insurmountable task at daybreak to an ice palace dream of glitter and hope, the
tree took form.
At three most left to go get ready. I stood and looked at the ribbons with
names and wishes, the handmade paper ornaments carrying the wishes of
schoolchildren, ornaments crafted by arthritis crippled fingers crocheting hope
into each dancing horse figure, a montage to
Ferdinand, a prayer from Illinois, crystal angels, a wondrous porcelain
ornament, a horse crafted from a cup and Popsicle stick, a white horse peering
from a silver stall door, ornaments with pictures of horses departed, horses
still with us, names and faces from
everywhere, the items blurred through heartfelt tears and I bowed my head,
dropped to my knees and cried to the heavens. This beacon, the symbol of
so much hope was breathtaking and heartrending. It cried its desire to
light the skies and call out to all that here was faith
personified.
People started gathering before five, more ornaments, more ribbons, hugs,
kisses, and soft affirmations of faith. The music of the horses surrounded
all, punctuating the squeals of children, gentle discussions of adults, and
wisdom of the elderly with sounds of horses. Ginger's wonderful smile
beamed her arrival. Terri brought Casanova (a rescued horse) decked in reindeer
antlers and Christmas lights. He stood proud and still, content to be with
people and loving the children reaching to his down turned nose to pet and
caress the wonder that is horse.
As beverages were served, and goodies eaten, people passing in cars and trucks
honked and waved. The police stopped and came to pay respects to the tree
and to all there. Several reporters wandered the crowd asking
"Why" and on hearing the answer, one wiped tears from her eyes and a
little of the distance reporters try and keep from their subjects disappeared
and her shoulders shuddered for a second. She came for a quick story and
stayed for the finale. A photographer from the paper brought his wife and
daughter. Carefully, lovingly, he took pictures of the messages and
ribbons, ornaments, and letters. He focused and shot picture after
picture. "Who sent this one?" he asked. "Look at this
message," he exclaimed. Roll after roll he took of the tree, craning
to see the top that soared to the sky.
As dusk dropped its ebony blanket, firefighters showed up with huge lights for
the area. Haloes danced rainbows around the clear white of the massive
lights. People gathered softly and the music switched to Christmas songs.
The Little Drummer Boy faded, and the music was
dimmed. All gathered and with lights down the tree was lit. Cold
fusion of white stormed to the sky above. The tree screamed the crystal
essence of hope to the heavens and iridescence wavered and flowed around all.
A frozen silence, then applause and laughter arose. The cacophony of horns
from the passing street was startling. Car after car honked, people waved
and did thumbs up as they made their busy way past our corner full of hope.
For a still, frozen, moment I felt the tree exerting it's magic across the
world. I knew many not here in person were adding their hopes and prayers
to it's power and multiplying the pull on the minds and hearts of the unknowing,
the uncaring. A beacon had been lit and even the stars
noticed and smiled their appreciation.
We left the tree blazing away, and each night it will come on at dusk and call
to all "Come join the battle, unite with our dream, safety for horses
everywhere is demanded." From one small beacon at the first vigil, to
the glories of the tree, to the reality to come, forces are marshalling that
will force the fierceness of light into the darkness of slaughter. Day is
coming, the long cold night is drawing to an end.