Fourth Sunday of Advent


Racing the owls and the gloaming
darkening the dusty
path home.
She leans to balance
the burden of water
gathered once more
for the cooking and washing,
chores and duties
finally put to rest.
The sharp-edged moon
rises on the cobalt sky,
fading predictably to blackness.
The murmuring house quiets,
and soon she is gathered among
still, resting bodies.
She is awake and surrounded
by the silence
of her thoughts.
And then,
the interruption of Light.
Announcements of blessing, favor
and impossibility.
She bows her head.
on the edge of the world,
unseen, unknown,
far beyond the machinations of empires and armies
and men.
The softest of whispers.

"Annunciation" (Oil on Canvas, 1898) by Henry Ossawa Tanner

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