Perhaps the plans will have to change

I admit it seemed a good idea... until we could not borrow a relative*s car and were stuck with the rented convertible.  Lion Country Safari might be a good idea next year, when, God willing, we are all well and we have rented a bigger car.  Perhaps the plans will have to change.

Perhaps the plans

Will have to change.

My beloved

Is not convinced.

Lion Country Safari

Will be enjoyed by all

Darn it

Despite the convertible

Which barely seats two;

Despite the coughs

Of three out of four

Who will ride

In said convertible;

Despite the other facts

Not fully risen

To the surface.

Perhaps the plans

Will have to change.

My beloved is dressed

And ready.

I hear him coughing

In the kitchen.

Weighing in/weighing out

The conversation in the other room moved into mental illness and ECT.  I thought I might have something to offer the conversation, so I joined them.  It was clear I did not.  I am grateful for the opportunity to weigh in and to weigh out.  By George, I think I*ve got it.  After how many years?  I think I*ve got it.  Not bad for over twenty years.  Slow study here.

In my corner of the world

I hear people express their opinions

On mental illness.

I wander in

To see whether my thoughts

Might be considered.

When I determine

I would do better

Otherwise,

I return to my corner

Give thanks

For the opportunity

To weigh in,

To weigh out.

I listen to the underlayment of care

In the conversation.

Soon I will join them

To eat spaghetti

For dinner.

Tonight

As I retire for bed

I will look for the moon

Waxing gibbous.

Same moon

It is important to note the common reference points, one place to another.  Here in Florida I found the moon and the blue jay.  I had forgotten the blue jay is here in the winter as well as living in the Midwest snows.  I remember the return of the blue jay after the West Nile virus decimation.  They make me smile with their raucous can*t miss it presence.  Blue jays are not passive birds.  The moon.... well... it is the moon.  It glows on the just and unjust and all of us caught in the middle.

The same moon

I know in Chicago

Shone through

The slats on the mini-blind

Last night:

Lined and bright

Moonlit stripes on my arm

Until my eyes

Finally closed.

I slept clear through

Time for church.

Last night

The very same moon

Shone full and clear

With stripes,

Reminded me

I have seen it

At home.

This morning at breakfast

The blue jay

Called and jeered

Just like

Every Illinois and Minnesota blue jay,

Hopped along the fence,

Told me

He Is every blue jay

I have ever known

And more.

In Florida land

Minnesota (me) has been meeting Florida (my beloved*s family) for years now, after Christmas.  No one ever gets up much before noon.  This year we are all in various stages of the respiratory crud.  This year sleeping counts as a good thing.  Next year I think three things: a shorter trip, a motel, and I will be a named driver on the rental car.

In Florida land

No one gets up before noon

Except perhaps

me.

This year I carefully read

The book on listening.

I hear different things

Between the pages:

Sounds of a house

Asleep;

Sighs of the daughter,

She opted to sleep

On the sofa

Instead of the collapsed

Blow-up mattress;

Husband breathing

breathing

breathing

Still asleep.

Me out of sight

And sound

And anyone*s mind

In the corner.

This is a longer trip

To Florida land.

No one gets up here

Before noon.

Exercising options

Twenty-plus years... I am a slow study, it seems, at exercising options with my beloved*s extended family.  This year is different.  When my vision goes blurry, it is time to retire to my chair in the bedroom, close the door.  I will help with dinner, maybe read more of my book on listening, rather than expecting others to listen to me.  That is not the score for this week.  This week I can help with dinner.  There will be other times for other things.

I am exercising

Options.

The corner chair

In our bedroom

Is refuge

From the post-breakfast conversation

At 1:15 in the afternoon.

Twenty plus years:

I have finally learned

To exercise

Options.

Finally I have found the space

I can see

I can breathe.

I can help with dinner.

I can live in this space

For the time being,

Listen on the edges

To voices raised.

I can help with dinner.

Listening outside the mirrored door

I am reading Seven Thousand Ways to Listen by Mark Nepo.  No, there are not seven thousand chapters.  Today I am on to Listening to all that is not said.  This is a very verbal family.  Very verbal.  I will have to work hard to find the spaces to hear around the words.  Then again, maybe not.  There are always unsaid things.

I listen from my corner

Of the bedroom.

The mirrored door is angled

So I can see anyone

In the hallway,

But they

Can*t see me.

This

Is a perfect arrangement.

I may as well

Be on the moon

But the moon

Wouldn*t let me listen.

I understand the sound

Would be lost

In outer space.

I read a book on listening

Small snippets

With questions at the end

Of every short chapter,

Questions which suggest

Ways to meditate.

Instead I apply each chapter

To what I hear

Outside the mirrored door

Fish dance

Every family has its traditions, particularly around Christmas.  Sometimes the traditions are not quite what would be listed in Emily Post.

It would not be Christmas

Without the annual

Dance around the fish.

My beloved works mightily

To cook

A fresh fish dinner

Every time

We are in Florida.

My beloved*s mother

Does everything in her power

To substitute

Frozen salmon

Gefilte fish.

You name it.

I have witnessed the dance,

The dance around the fish,

For over twenty years.

The argument is part

Of the Florida ritual dance

Around the fish

A dance with learned maneuvers

A dance as choreographed

As any ballet.

It would not be Christmas

Without the annual

Dance around the fish.

Misbehavin*

I have found a spot in Boca where I can be alone, but not too alone.  Much like the Little Hippo (one of my favorite children*s books).  The fact that I am one week further along in the respiratory crud with which we have all been afflicted means that I feel well enough, but still sound sick enough, to inhabit the chair in the corner of the bedroom, drink my coffee (now cold), and write this.  I can also hear the conversation going on in the other room.  I feel wicked... in a very good way.

Now we are all sick

In Florida.

I have found a chair

In the corner of our bedroom.

The book I lost at church

The day before Christmas Eve

Was replaced by a package

Under the Walgreens tree

On Christmas Day.

I have a forbidden cup of coffee

In the bedroom.

I find I enjoy

Misbehaving

Here.

The fact that we arrived sick

Makes misbehavior more tolerable.

My dear one can sit

With his parents

As they cluck and croon,

Try to fix him.

I can sit in the bedroom,

Misbehave

With my coffee

As long as I don*t spill.

Christmas afternoon

Every year some adaptation is required.  This year has required more adaptation than usual, what with the kitchen renovation still underway.  My new snowy owl puppet has a head that turns all the way around,  He can look at things in back of him.  He is an inspiration.

Christmas afternoon:

The tiny Walgreens tree

In the corner of the family room

Made do

With its twelve twinkly lights.

We listened to

Pandora classical Christmas music

Once we figured out

Pandora traditional Christmas music

Was anything but

Our tradition.

My husband figured out

Eggs in the microwave.

The trick is to

Break the yolks

Ahead of time.

I am wearing the plumb bob necklace.

It is perfect,

Absolutely perfect,

As are the clothes

The books

The snowy owl puppet.

Soon we will go out

To dinner.

We will be especially nice

To the waitstaff.

Waiting to take the cat to the vet

We usually don*t board the cat at Christmas.  This year, when we*re gone, the counter tops will be installed.  So instead of staying in the basement, the cat will be at the vet*s.

Soon and very soon

We will take the cat

To stay

With the vet.

He is completely unaware

Of the plans,

Curled up

In my lap,

Purring

Eyes at half mast.

The cat carrier waits

In the partial kitchen.

It waits.

I wait.

The cat is perfectly content.

Just wait.

The running of the angels

Every year the pageant is different.  Of course it is.  This year the angels took the cake.

The angels entered this morning

Stage center.

At rehearsal yesterday,

The angels appeared

In silence,

Surprised the Angel of the Lord

No end.

This morning

We had

The running of the angels.

Stage center.

They pounded

Toward the manger,

Haloes and wings

Bounced with every step.

The angels

Were not be missed.

First they were heard on high

From the choir loft,

Then came

The running of the angels.

Ships

All of a sudden I find myself humming I Saw Three Ships... Never thought of myself as one of the ships (or rowboats or life rafts).  Hmmm.  With the home front discombobulated from renovation, we bought one of those Walgreens tabletop trees for the corner of the family room.  This means not unpacking all the Christmas things into the midst of the kitchen supplies in the family room.  My daughter had a crazy math teacher the first part of the term... she retired November 1 (TBTG).  What was incomprehensible in September and October became comprehensible with the new teacher.  I see possibilities on the horizon.

I am a ship:

A frigate,

A rowboat,

Sometimes a mere

Life raft,

Sail pieced together

From all the old t-shirts

In the bottom dresser drawer.

Sometimes the wind blows

Fills the sail.

I move.

I am a frigate,

A rowboat,

A life raft

At sea.

There is land on the horizon.

I intuit

Possible

Safe

Harbor

When I finally

Arrive.

If the world ends today

It seemed easier somehow to leave the plastic film on the new back doors until the construction was finished.  We had our first snow last night.  I woke up at 4:30 AM.  When I came downstairs, the snow called out.  I saw it only dimly through the plastic on the back doors.  The cat and I removed enough film on one door to see the backyard and snow, pre-dawn.  If the world ends today, it seems best to see things full-on.

If the world ends today

Or simply,

Or not so simply,

Begins again,

It seems imperative

To remove the plastic sheets

From the new glass doors;

To see the snow layered

On the back patio

In its most basic fullness

As it shines pre-dawn

White wet cold

Grass still poking through

(Not much snow)

(granted)

But if the world ends today,

First the plastic

Must be removed,

The entirety

Of layered snow

Seen

Appreciated for its snow-ness.

If the world ends today

Or simply begins again,

First it is time

For the plastic

To be removed.

We are leaving the turtle in charge

I know Christmas looks different every year...  but this year it is way different.  More to learn.  Always more to learn.  We are leaving the turtle in charge of the countertops.

The kitchen is still

In the family room

In boxes.

The Christmas tree

(Artificial)

Is still

In the basement. 

Once finals and grading

Are done,

The tree will go

In the corner

Opposite the boxes

Of kitchen supplies.

The silverware will move

Under the TV

To make room for the tree.

I sit and write

In the raspberry chair.

At semi-regular intervals

I take time

To stick my fingers in my ears

Sing la la la

Then la la la

Again.

It*s seasonal,

Doncha know?

We will move the silverware

This weekend.

The countertops

Will be installed

When we*re in Florida

After Christmas.

The cat will spend the holidays

At the vet.

We are leaving the turtle

In charge.

This is for you: you know who you are

It takes me awhile to learn to trust other people.  I believe a large part of this is nature: the way I have been wired since birth.  I am constantly amazed at others who trust easily.  And envious.  It just doesn*t seem to be the way I was made.  The way I am wired does have a flip side to it... I have a sharply developed intuitive sense.  This allows me to sit with and hear others, even things they might be hinting at.  Sometimes I don*t know where my questions come from.  Still... I take it as gift.  God-given gift.  Even when I am envious of others who trust easily.

So this one is for someone who has sat with me hour by hour by hour... waiting and watching,  And waiting and listening.

This is for you:

You know who you are.

Let everything begin

Anew.

It already has

It already did

Even before

I fully noticed

The ending.

This is for you:

You know who you are.

Nothing magical

But yet it is;

Nothing on the mystical order

But still

It is.

This is for you:

You know who you are.

Things needed to be un-strung,

Then re-strung.

The tuning has begun.

Eventually

There may be a song played.

There may even

Be words.

Possibly rhyme or reason.

This is for you:

You know who you are.

Improvement

Sometimes the oddest things show we are beginning to see things differently.

Things begin to improve.

Again I notice the collapsed

Blow-up

Snowmen

On people*s lawns

As I drive to work

Today.                                           

I consider the oddities.

Once again

I am amused.

I will see those same snowmen

Lighted

Full of air

On my way home this evening

In the dark.

Tomorrow I will see them again

Collapsed.
Tomorrow
They may look
Even funnier.

Clinic day

Swimming through things today at the clinic.  

It is the clinic day

The week before Christmas

Mere days after so many things

My head swims

In the fluorescent lighting

Blue walls

My mouth opens and shuts

Fish bubbles

Rise up

Pop.

I look for food

Sprinkled on the surface.

I swim.

Blue walls

Fluorescent lights

Clinic day.

Reordering

I have a sense of things being reordered.  I wonder whether the new order will look like the old.  It is Advent 3.  We are always beginning again.  Sometimes we are oblivious to the fact.  Sometimes it hits us in the solar plexus.  Sometimes we take the instructions out of the kitchen drawer, unfold them, and consider the pieces.

I watch the world

As it strives

To reorder itself.

Tab A

Into

Slot B.

This end up.

This end down.

Instructions put away

In the kitchen drawer

Are taken out again,

Unfolded,

Wrinkles smoothed,

Laid on the dining room table,

Perused.

Tab A

Into

Slot B.

This is the top.

This is the bottom.

Find the sides that hold

The bottom to top.

Read the instructions

Again.

Tab A

Into

Slot B.

This is another day

Another prayer resource from the 1979 Book of Common Prayer.  It is found hidden away in the additional prayer section.  I remember a seminary classmate pointing it out years ago, talking about how useful it had been in her hospital Clinical Pastoral Education the previous summer.  

In the midst of illness and grief and tragedy, whatever we do in these times, let us do them consciously, and with the Spirit of Jesus:

This is another day, O LORD, I know not what it will bring forth, but make me ready LORD, for whatever it will be. If I am to stand up, Help me to stand bravely. If I am to sit still, Help me to sit quietly. If I am to lie low, Help me to do it patiently. And if I am to do nothing, Let me do it gallantly. Make these words more than words, and Give me the Spirit of Jesus, Amen.~From The Book of Common Prayer (1979)

Keep watch

There is a prayer in the service of Compline (bedtime prayers) in the Book of Common Prayer.  It is one of the prayers I used to pray with my children while putting them to bed.  I still say it when putting myself to bed, particularly when a whole host of tragedy seems to have taken charge.  Here is the prayer:

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep.
Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen.

And my prayer:

Keep watch, dear Lord,

Every time we are reminded:

Grief and loss and tragedy prevail.

Keep watch, dear Lord,

When the ground heaves and swells

And we

Heave and swell

With it.

Keep watch

When skies open up,

Raindrops pour down

Like oh so many tears.

Keep watch

Keep watch

Oh please

Keep watching

When blows to the safety

Of those we love,

Blows to the safety

Of those we have yet

To love

Rain down.

Keep watch while we aim

To catch our breath,

And then

To know

What*s next.

Snow Ptarmigan

I retrieve birds

In my sleep.

Some are whole memories,

Most are partial at best.

At two and three and four in the morning

The snow ptarmigan

Comes to mind

In winter plumage.

It hides in the snow.

I can barely see

Its outline.

There are birds

In my sleep,

Whole birds,

Birds I have never seen

When I am awake.

They remind me of their presence

So I can find them in the bird book
When I wake.

This side of the Divide

After Diocesan Convention I received an email from my friend, Sam Portaro.  He welcomed me to the .rank of senior priest.  This side of the Divide, it makes sense.  Thank you, Sam, for naming it.

Before Advent began

A dear friend wrote to me.

He told me I have entered the rank

Of Senior Priest.

He told me John the Baptist

Is our patron saint,

The very one who incarnated the truth:

We must decrease

In order that others

May increase.

It was a missive

Of welcome.

This side of the Divide

It makes sense.

I picture John

Cartwheeling in Elizabeth*s womb

Before he was born.

I picture John

Cartwheeling

On the banks

of the Jordan River

After a breakfast of bugs and honey

Waiting to decrease

After the One who must increase

Has arrived

To take his place.

This side of the Divide

It makes

A particular kind of sense.

This too will pass

Often I find myself counseling someone who is anxious.  I am no stranger to anxiety.  Often I need to take my own advice.  Sometimes I even do.

I remind people every day

This too will pass.

Take a breath

Find a quiet place

Shut the door.

This too will pass.

I remind myself

Again and again,

Particularly now,

This too will pass.

Breathe.

Find a quiet place

Shut the door.

Post the sign that says

In session;

Pull down the shade.

No one has to know

I am in session

With myself.

God listens with every breath

I take.

No money changes hands.

God does not charge

A fee.

Advent 2.2

Two days into the week of Advent 2.  I am thinking we may need to find a way to have Christmas in the mess.  Pollyanna says: At least the kitchen has been painted red.  There is a psychologist I know who is promoting a messy Christmas.  I don*t think this is what he has in mind.  Then again... maybe it is.

Slowly slowly

We bite the dust.

My ears are plugged.

The daughter sleeps in.

The husband reports

Mild depression.

I listen to the chipper voice

Of the contractor

Downstairs.

Sun does shine through

The dust motes

Upstairs.

I look at the calendar

For the day,

Consider Christmas

Two weeks hence.

It will come.

It will come,

No matter the state

Of my ears,

No matter who sleeps in,

No matter who

Is mildly depressed.

The sun shines through

The dust motes.

The contractor remains

Chipper.

The old and the new

Tomorrow the appliances arrive.  The next step.  The painting is now complete.  The new puts the old into sharp relief.  The old has served us well.  We have had our current refrigerator for fifteen years.  It was here when we bought the house.  To be sure... its water stopped running, and we couldn*t replace the light in the refrigeration compartment.  But it continues to do its job, even in the dark.

The fresh paint smell

Permeates the house.

Of course now we notice

The fifteen years of paint

Declaring its age

On the other walls.

This is how it always is

When new

Confronts the old.

We stand back,

Let each declare

Its superiority.

Tomorrow 

The new refrigerator will arrive

While the old one looks on

From the living room,

Jealous of the stainless sleekness

The light that actually works

The water that cubes and shaves and flows

The efficiency rating:

A nine out of ten

Of available refrigerators.

The old one

Has served us

An amazing fifteen years.

We purchased the warranty

On the new one.

We have been warned.

Oh yes

We have been warned.

Advent Two

There is an advantage to years and years of Advent worship.  Even when I am recovering from a cold at home, on a Sunday, awake in a house in the midst of renovation, I can imagine two candles lit on the Advent wreath and the church year moving along exactly as it should.  I understand the second candle on the Advent wreath signifies hope.  I hope be present in church on Advent 3.

Everyone is in church

Right now

Or maybe

Just arrived home.

I have been home

All morning.

I remember Second Advent sermons.

I imagine two candles

Lit.

This year is Advent purple

Not blue.

I see it

In my mind*s eye.

I know the Sunday schedule.

I can picture the children

Winding up

To Christmas,

Their parents trying desperately

To hold them in place.

It rarely works.

This is Advent Two.

I am home.

Quiet Day

Quiet Day for St. Michael*s, Barrington this morning.  A wonderful opportunity.  I enjoyed it, except for the cough, which seemed to have a life of its own.  Bother.  Thankfully it did not claim the time I had to speak, just the quiet time in between.  I*m sure there*s something to be learned here... there always is.

The cough behaved itself

While I was speaking.

It could not stand

The hour of silence

In between

The talks.

Usually I am fine

With long stretches

Of quiet.

Today the cough

Had other ideas.

Now that I am quiet

At home

There is no problem.

The cough

Has a voice of its own.

I remember this

From innumerable

Sundays past.

Now that I am off

Sunday morning duty,

I realize

I*d forgotten.

Now I remember:

The cough

Has a voice of its own.

More accomplishments

Some days it is amazing what counts as an accomplishment.  In addition to a haircut, getting medication without needing to make a doctor visit, the kitchen being painted as I sit in my office, I have a quiet space to work and one thing to focus on.  After I eat lunch... of course.  All of these count as accomplishments.  

The children have left.

The hair is cut.

The office door is closed.

There is space to do

What needs to be done.

Now to determine

What comes next.

I think lunch

Is a good idea.

When I get home

The kitchen will be painted

A new color.

The medicine awaits me

At the pharmacy.

I said magic words to the nurse

Over the phone:

No fever,

No sore throat,

Productive cough;

Therefore no need

To make an office visit.

This counts as an accomplishment

For today.

One of many.

St. Nicholas

I got a text two days ago, all in caps, ST. NICHOLAS DAY IS IN TWO DAYS.  It is wonderful to be cared for, with advance notice even.  St. Nicholas actually found his way into this house under renovation, and didn*t even require the usual shoes.  He knows, around here, it is different every year.  St. Nicholas knows how to go with the flow.

St. Nicholas arrived early

Last night.

He tripped over renovation obstacles,

Found the orange juice

In the living room refrigerator.

St. Nicholas

Sneaked up the crowded stairs.

He did not find any shoes

At the door.

The shoes are strewn

In the family room.

St. Nicholas made do this year

With a paper box

From Ten Thousand Villages.

He angled it against the door,

A box,

A few chocolate coins.

Every year St. Nicholas arrives

As he wills.

Every year it is different

And the same.

Container

Every time I enter my office, I am reminded:  here is a container for peace and quiet.  Rather amazing, this.  Stunning, really... 

My office holds quiet,

Even with children outside the door

Most mornings,

The office holds quiet

Inside,

Contains peace and quiet

Inside.

I breathe the quiet.

I am reminded

Here there is space

For almost anything

To happen.

Even quiet.

One deadline at a time

On Iona I made a spectacular find: The Little Book of Calm by Paul Wilson.  Since then I have found the book in numerous places, and purchased copies for many friends.  In this season of quiet, I am finding this book to be quite helpful.  One page recommends taking one deadline at a time.  Only one.  It (of course) is reminiscent of the AA focus of One Day at a Time.  As with many things, sometimes it only takes a simple re-working of a common principle to hear it again.  Buried treasure.

My little book of calm

Suggests only one deadline

At a time.

This is my favorite page.

I call home to find out

What*s new.

Now that I am not dependent

On someone dropping me off

Or picking me up

From work,

I find there are six deadlines

Imposed on the system,

Today alone.

My next client

Is at 8 PM.

She is a regular.

She is my next deadline.

One at a time.                           

I will weigh in

On kitchen paint color

Before bed,

Something else

In the morning.

Buried treasure

I prepare for a new client, and the quiet day on Saturday.  Both are unknowns.  Both are buried treasure.  Advent seems a good time to look for buried treasure.

I search

For buried treasure

In the coming of the Christ child,

The Second Coming

Is buried

Just around

The corner.

The Mayans

May be onto something:

Let one calendar run out

Before creating

Something new.

This buried treasure

May be found

Only when the field

Looks empty.

This buried treasure

May require

Less light

To be found,

A quiet hopeful waiting

In the dark

More wise counsel

Okay.  I will stay home today.  Not that I want to (mind you) but I will stay home, drink hot things, gallons of water.  maybe leave the house tomorrow.

I remember praying

For just enough snow

So a friend

Would have to stay home

Not make an unwise decision.

I recruited friends

To pray with me.

They did.

There was enough snow

To stop traffic

Everywhere,

Just enough snow

For my friend

To stay home.

Today every time I consider

Leaving the house,

My right nostril

Opens like a spigot.

I get it.

Just because the calendar says

I can drive,

There is more wise counsel.

It suggests:

A nap,

Gallons of water,

Microwaved

Chicken soup.

Maybe driving

Tomorrow.

It does not feel like Advent

It does not feel like Advent.  Too warm.  Even the plants are confused.  I understand it*s been ten below zero not too many miles north, in the land of my birth.  Even snow.  I wonder whether this blog will be captured somewhere in the future as a weather chronicle.  Today it does not feel like Advent.  Today I will focus on today*s things:  Do I go to work at the Clinic with a dripping nose?  Stay home and sleep in?  Work on the Advent Quiet Day I lead next week?  It does not feel like Advent... but it is.
Today I choose to follow the Star.  www.d365.org/followingthestar/   

It does not feel

Like Advent.

The weather is warm.

A friend notes

A confused forsythia

In bloom

On the way home from church.

Another friend notes

This is good weather

For compost.

I note this is a full week.

I have a completely unseasonable

Head cold.

My husband pats my shoulder

On his way to work.

So this is the way it begins,

I think.

I*m sure there must some connection

Between forsythia and compost

Head colds and shoulder pats

And Advent.

Some connection somewhere.

New license to drive

Today I can drive.  I will most likely make the grocery store run this afternoon, drive to my volunteer job tomorrow morning.  By myself.  No radio.  Today, maybe all week, maybe all month, I will consider myself a new driver.  Learn again the privilege.  I hope I may not have to do this again.  This time around, I know there is the possibility that things might change... any minute. I hope not.

With this new year

Comes driving.

Today it*s not about

Speed,

But rather

A week or two

With new rules.

This week

When I drive

I will be the only one

In the car.

A week or two, perhaps three,

With different rules,

A new license

To drive.

New year.

New beginning.

This Sunday in church

We light the hope candle

On the Advent wreath.

Perhaps the new rules

Will last an entire season.

Perhaps

This time around

Things will be different.

I certainly hope so.

I consider Advent

 There is no point in unearthing the Advent wreath.  There is no place to put it. We will have to mark Advent in a different way this year.  

I consider Advent

With four juncos

On the back patio.

They sit

On the leftover kitchen tile.

No snow.

I consider Advent:

No place to put a wreath

This year,

The newly arrived kitchen sink

In a box

In the hallway.

No room in the inn

For decorations.

Today we will remove the pumpkins

From the planters

Out front,

Put them next to the creek

For squirrel food.

Today I consider Advent

Mary jostling along

Pregnant

On a donkey,

Wondering what on earth

Comes next.

Please tell me (she whispers)

No more angels

Announcing strange and stranger things.

No more cries in the wilderness

Prepare

Prepare

Prepare.

I consider Advent

No room in the inn

For decorations;

Pumpkins for the squirrels

Out back;

Juncos waiting for snow;

Kitchen sink

In the hallway.

Please tell me

No more angels

For now.