it’s a fish fry here, oma and opa and cousin are over and the air smells of cumin and cut potatoes, sliced french, and the table’s laid and we’re all saying grace in our quiet family way
the sky let go, this weekend, clouds fell flat on earth, white drifting metres high and there’s fluff in the walk, in the print on snowflake
we feel the snow in the wood heat, the reminder of winter as it evaporates and we hold hands and aiden giggles and we thank the God of fish and potato and we eat
five loads of laundry sit folded
five loaves of bread sit baked
five heads around the table bowed low in advent communion
and there is expectation in the quiet for we know what the coming weeks bring: rushed flight to ontario, sister’s wedding to zambian man, staying on to love on mum then back, christmas eve, to a full slate of activities here and
then revisions to be made to my book (the publisher is pleased, wants more) and assignments to finish and
december has been hard.
i’ve been sad for the sacred gone missing
for the busy come rushing
for the crowded and the crazed and i’m hungry for the stillness of manger babe
so i stop.
and i’ll stop until january. i’ll stop and savor and scribble thoughts across brain instead of blog, and post pictures in heart instead of online, and i’ll pray for you, dear readers, but i must stop.
the new year, soon here
and us, together again
communing, heads bent, over imperfect prose and daily breakings.
i love you.
Christ be born among us…
(print of painting available here)