I’m writing this at five in the morning and it’s mostly dark. Everyone else is asleep and the power is off- a drastic measure to make people sleep in this place. The first morning birds are singing and the rooster crowing as dawn's sneaky glow makes tree silhouettes outside my bedroom window. My laptop glares up at me and would say if it could that it wishes it didn’t have a battery.
Today's Nativity (minus Joseph) is a painting I did for our Christmas card a few years ago.
I also received a baby one Christmas sixteen years ago. It was an early present that came a week before we unwrapped the others...must..fight it…the urge to relate birth story…is strong …in me… I slap my face. No - I will tell you her birth story...
It’s Christmas Day. She’s feeling a little woozy from the bottle of wine she drank the night before. She walks down stairs to a morning chorus of cat-dog-bird and smiles to herself as she makes a cup of tea and then settles in a chair next to the Christmas tree where she has surprises for her beloveds.
After the seed treats and pigs ear and cat fun Christmas things are given she notices there is one more present, one that she had no part in wrapping.
She looks at the box under the tree and then around the room as if she may have a guest she wasn't aware of.
Sure there's no one else it could be for she lifts the parcel gently onto her lap. She slowly tears off the outer green wrapping and opens the lid of the cardboard box within, the animals craning their necks to see her expression.
Inside is a baby.