A woman speaks to a tree in place of her son./And olives come. *

The twenty-fourth of December is a weird day now. Thirty-six years ago, it was a wonder. But now it’s just a day to be marked; gotten through. The boy’s birthday. Nothing new for the world. Loss is in our lives in many ways. Sometimes the loss happens before the loss or is piled onto the loss. Such complication.

I was reading an article in the New York Times about grief; part of it resonated. How a song can push you into grief. There is a specific song I can no longer listen to. I’m fortunate that I don’t hear it often, but it lays me low if it pops up. When Issac was eighteen months, he learned to come in on the chorus of Duke of Earl – Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of Earl – he sang the Earl part. There is nothing better than a wee one waiting for pancakes and singing with you.

And here are some random photos of what is around in our house at this time of year.

Be safe, be kind.

* from Jerusalem by Naomi Shahib Nye