In some years, the angels speak to us, with their news that we need not be afraid, that something wonderful bursts forth for those who have eyes to see.
Some years, it's the prophet crying in the wilderness about pathways made straight, the need to repent.
Some years, we tire of that locust-tinted breath always beating down on us. Some years, the angels come too close.
Some years we scan the skies, looking for the unusual, a far-away star to tell us something new.
Maybe we just need a walk with a friend to do what the prophet and angels cannot do, to get us back on track and restore our sense of wonder.