The spring bulbs' green tips, determinedly pushing their way upwards, through sodden earth and into the grey, rain-laden world.
The chatter of two sons, catching up, making up for their busy lives separating them by time and distance.
The silliness of sticky notes stuck on foreheads, trying to guess the famous name written on them!
Every seat filled around our dining table.
church memorial plaque, lit by flickering candle light at midnight
mass, reminding us of the abbots that once belonged in this space ;-
AEfmaer, Lyfing, Ealdred, Sihtric,Wymund, Osbert..... long forgotten names.
Lord's Prayer recited as one low reverent voice of 400 worshippers like the abbots chanting vespers in a dimly lit abbey.
The single star standing sentry to the almost full moon throughout the Christmas night.
The clearest, joyful bird songs cutting through the darkness on early Christmas morning.
The single rosebud determined to be there for Christmas Day despite being battered by the heavy rain.
Two sons, kneeling at the altar, not together, but at the altar rail - in two different churches, in two different settings.
The sunlight lighting up the silver, snake like water trails on the sodden moor, as we make our way to the rural church on Christmas morning.
The warm hugs and welcome by familiar members of the small ancient rural church which is freshly decorated with flowers and candles.
The Curate, resplendent in gold stole, standing confidently ready to take the morning service.
My world travelling son receiving communion from his father for the first time.
The laughter and shared double act of The Curate and the church warden at the end of the morning service marking The Curate's last service at this place.
All Christmas Blessings!