This morning my husband and I sat down to breakfast: grapefruit and then that traditional South African porridge 'Maltabella', made out of sorghum, the old traditional African grain, now eclipsed by corn, to the impoverishment of the soil and all that entails. All four advent candles were lit, outside snowflakes were falling, gently wafting down onto the spruce tree, the birdfeeder and the ground. Inside Handel's Messiah was playing on the radio... a truly beautiful recording. And so I sensed the approach of Christmas, the first of the thirteen Holy Nights, and the birth of the Child.
With the cold weather and snow of the past week, outings have been minimal. Perhaps it was this quiet time that brought the space I needed in order to experience the season, and I'm grateful for that.
I'm also grateful to Radio 2, the French program. Saturday and Sunday mornings I tune in, in order to have some classical music as accompaniment to breakfast preparation. But this morning it felt kind of ironic, listening to the English words of 'The Messiah' on the French program. Nevertheless, once again, I was grateful.
