winter's tale

A time of bareness.Insideness and early dark. Bluest of sky but little warmth from the sun.New beginnings.Crows in the trees and turkeys boldly coming to the door and looking in.Frozen birdbath with crows wondering where to dip their corn.

Advent is over and, quite surprisingly, the days and the journey led to unexpected places.I have joined three groups on line:one to do with the Rosary, one with Christian writers and another exploring the life of Blessed Charles de Foucald.Having done that, I am being richly rewarded with postings from many different seekers throughout the world.The blessings pour into my already overflowing wooden bowl.

Beyond the mystery of rosaries said, poems read and prayers written in the Algerian desert; in the midst of the wonders of crackling brown leaves, grey, bare tree branches, a bright hawk circling over head, a brown colored river that starts near the Atlanta Airport in a debris ridden seepage, is this:
  
 A family at church suffered a setback just before Christmas.I felt strongly that we needed to give an anonymous donation since they have children and it is the time of gift giving.My husband was totally agreeable or I am not sure it would've happened.The day after Christmas, a check arrived for that amount plus a hundred dollars from American Express.A refund from an error we knew nothing about.