And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the...

Dreaming People tend to oversleep in my guest room. The ceiling is painted like a night sky and the tapestry curtains, when closed, shut o...

Silence It is said that the brilliant writer, Edith Wharton, wrote in bed. With her Pekinese on the pillow beside her, she would lie back ...

A Quieter Palette Now The colours of Christmas have gone. The house, so recently lavished with shades of scarlet and new penny copper, an ...

The Glimpse of a Promise They flood my television screen as the hour nears midnight. Variegated hives of revelers swarming the streets of...

The Gracious Time Some say that ever ‘gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all ni...

Do They Even Need A Christmas? Even though the night is clear, and sown with more stars than normally allowed this close to one of man’s mo...

Santa He was the mysterious figure in red that sat in the shadows of Christmas. Though I’d never seen him face to face, never hid behind t...

The Aunt It was a winter wedding, the very best kind, and I was attending alone because The Songwriter was out of town. Ushered into the sp...

Let's Go Christmas Shopping While it’s true that all my Christmas gifts for friends and family are already wrapped and under the tree, I...