[matters of perspective: A Very Supernatural Christmas]

[forewarned_is]

O come they told me...
It's hard to say just how news can travel this fast, among a widely scattered people who barely ever speak to one another.

Do you hear what I hear? Do you hear what I hear?
Gods in this land live uneasily, cautious of each other's boundaries, wary of human sight. Some choose uninhabited regions to live in; there are still enough of those, even today. Some allow a small town, or a small secret community within a larger one, to know and honor their true natures; they may take tribute, and may return in kind what gifts are theirs to give -- prosperity, protection, power. And some hide in plain sight, taking on the guise of mortals and living among them, unknown, unrecognized, unremembered.

Joyful, all ye nations rise / join the triumph of the skies
Two such lived in Ypsilanti, Michigan. A god and a goddess, winter solstice deities, their true names long forgotten by any but themselves. In this time and place, they were calling themselves Edward and Madge Carrigan. Until two hunters came to their hiding place during the solstice, and recognized the pattern of human deaths that made up their meager annual sacrifices, and slew them with their own evergreen.

And still their heavenly music floats o'er all the weary world
Word spreads, when it's something like this. Among the tinsel and glitter of another religion's holiday, in the cracks between the incessant jangling songs of peace on earth, good will toward men, the word is in the world and spreading. Through the bright wires and invisible threads of man-made communications, or through the earth itself, or passed from mouth to ear; no god wants to hear it, to be reminded that we are only immortal until we're killed, and yet no god can turn the news aside when it comes.

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: / God is not dead, nor doth He sleep
Least of all this one.