Advent

  • Bare winter trees at sunrise with ice and snow on ground
    Advent,  Christmas,  Poetry

    Elizabeth: on the journey to Christmas

    My husband lost his voice but I found mine. I had waited for his return from the city, expecting him to be full of news, full of the wonder of temple service, full of himself. Instead – nothing. No words, only a spreading of his arms, a soundless, impotent mouth, a wrinkled gaze of sadness, bewilderment, mute frustration with his own self.