a quiet hour: Christmas 2018

I am up before the sun because I want to be

(and because a three-year-old stole my pillow

out from under my head)

but mostly because I want to be:

the cinnamon rolls are ready to be rolled

and no one will have the patience to do it

once my household awakes and remembers

today is Christmas.

And so, I have that rarest of gifts–

a quiet hour, alone, at home,

with no one but our ancient cat to tug

at my attention–

a quiet hour now, amidst the

rush and bustle of holidays with children–

a quiet hour to contemplate

the mysteries of the season:

the strength of a woman long ago

to birth a child in a foreign place;

the urgency of welcoming the stranger

to our hearth and to our home;

the effort required of me– and you–

to bring about true peace on earth;

how difficult it is to wait

for days, for years, for centuries or more

until that thing you're wanting

comes to pass

poem and photograph (c) 2018 D. Ohlandt

please only reprint in entirety and with credit given