Traveling eastward on highway 13, passing br uninhabited-it seems- railroad tracks br and quaint white churches, steeples br humbly making signs of the cross. br br Looking down at her black skin wondering, br Why not one white church is followed br by a single colored one…Hmm? br was it god's design or man's...white churches, br colored churches...Hmm? br br The poetic architect quickly dismantles such thoughts... br centering her mind on nature's creation: br The brown cones dropping of br trees, needles dropping of pine br brown grass dead asleep br on the ground, as evening br progressed, we pressed on br leaving life in winter-wonderland br br Passing by red, green, and white illuminated homes; br luminous reindeers and round-belly Santas, br Seeming to announce a Ho, Ho, Ho, and a Merry Christmas! br Unawakening the sleeping children in the back.