Fourth Sunday of Advent

It is quiet now in the fields
where the grass was bathed in song.
And empty now the sky
that held angelic hosts and golden light.
Nothing now, but the bleats of ewes
looking for their lambs,
and the soft breeze swaying
the branches and leaves.
What did we hear?
The fire burns low
as the shepherd's eyes
stare upward, unsleeping,
into the stars.
What did we see?
No clear answer appears,
just a weight of knowing,
that a promise made
has been fulfilled.

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