Awry, Amiss, Amok


It's Christmas morning. I have the house to myself. I can't help but glance (and then stare minutely) into the Yuletide rear-view at the year gone by. I received a lot of things; some were beaten into me by actions reckless and violent, others required months of near-complete stillness to crystallise. Sometimes I had to just lower my hands and accept kisses as they were sent. Some of this year's gifts came in packages tied up with string, but many more came whispered between the words of conversations, songs, and prayers.

All I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful.