I woke this morning thinking of Christmas. Not so much an anticipation of the busyness of activities…but rather more a need for Christmas, for the festiveness of it, the music of it, the twinkle and sparkle of it.

Birds are everywhere on the feeder. They fly to and fro, jockey for position, nudge another off, tilt their heads back and forth all the while munching and crunching. The simple act of eating looks like a party complete with friends and dancing.

The kids are home this weekend. Perhaps that is what makes me think of Christmas. Maybe that’s why I’m thinking the simple things have been imbued with sparkle and festiveness. We light the candles on the table as we eat. We talk long after our plates are clean . We go for a walk in the rain. We watch a Disney movie. All ordinary simple things. But oh the twinkle of delight.

I’m sitting in my usual spot. Chair by the window in my making room , the sunroom, the studio. Cat is sitting on the arm of the chair beside me gazing out the window as I am. I marvel at the breaking clouds, like icebergs shifting apart to reveal a crystal blue sea. This is  my life. Ordinary moments strung together and woven into a whole day that somehow, in its ordinariness, will be extraordinary. No trips to France. No fancy outings, no gourmet dining out…just ordinary white clouds shifting to reveal the azure glow above.

There is a melancholy thread that runs through all this. The kids will go back to college, Christmas will come and go, candles will be put away in summer. I must remember the birds. Their daily feasting at a tin-roofed trough, harkening to the Babe’s own trough.  Cardinals, chickadees, titmice, sparrows and more gather for the festivity of daily sustenance.

This is what I look for each morning as I sit here in my chair by the window. This is why I go to church every Sunday. I need the reminder that Christmas is coming. That family and friends gathering around a table or to worship is how I hold Christmas in my heart all year. Daily and weekly rituals as ordinary as icebergs and clouds.

May I have eyes to see the beauty they reveal in their shifting seasons.

3 thoughts on “Seeing

  1. Phyllis Alden says:

    I love you. I love the honesty, the vulnerability, the grace of you.
    Just needed to be said, because I would hate to think it unsaid.
    You, at your distance, are often closer to me than many far nearer.
    Wishing you and your s all good things, as you have given to so many strangers like me.

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