Softly, softly

Winter has come.

Bracing walks over the

field of hope

kicking leaves and listening to

( dare I say it )

Medieval Carols already.

Planning Christmas in my heart ~

feeling she is like a distant,

absent  mother

who has left me alone in her house

to admire her beauties.

However in the midst of this the
sharp edges of life return
making me long most days

for a quiet Cathedral at dawn
when the chapels are empty
and the chairs are bathed in morning light

and someone,

somewhere,

* long sigh *

singing

The Coventry Carol.

Come , waiting week

I softly, softly ,

turn your pages.