Standing on the threshold of the season

 

Standing on the threshold of the season,
waiting for the darkness to clear,
waiting for the travellers on their journey,
waiting for the new star to appear.
Standing midst the songs of celebration,
waiting for the dawn of that day
when the tide of time begins returning
to keep the dark of night at bay.

Standing at an inn or border crossing
waiting, always waiting, for relief
shunned or hounded by oppression,
bowed beneath the heavy load of grief.
But still we’re on the doorstep of tomorrow
still a hope, still a reason why,
still a light beyond our darkness
an answer to the prayers we cry.

Standing on the threshold of this season,
singing songs of angels and of kings
singing, always singing, for a future,
singing for the joy that singing brings.
And the song began way, way back, in glory
before the world and all created things
when the spirit sang above the waters
and the tune, like feathers, formed his wings.