My fingertips are dipped in scorching water
on the eve of the first snowfall.
Dipped in holy water; cleansing vessels.
Warmed by these tears, this ritual, and sacrament;
frigid moments before.
Purify me, O Holy One.
Evening made its approach,
once again known; present.
Stillness lying in wait.
From the heavens, through the night,
matter, drifting slowly onto the earth.
Gathered and knitted like wool into a blanket.
Falling still, though morning has drawn near.
Fluffy white friends all gathering together
on this November morn.
Leaves still clutching to their trees
– their branches desperate for shelter.
Clinging, yet inevitably, departing.
Green and gold will soon fade
with this snowfall.
Uphold me, Eternal One.
Winter, in name, is not yet here,
but I can feel the change in the air;
pregnant with her presence.
In our surrender, she wraps us in wool and shawl.
Helping with the buckles and laces of our boots and shrugs.
All of us, each in turn, like little doves.
Socks and scarves are left by the door to be warmed.
As we tread beyond our concrete walls,
she whispers,” Don’t forget your gloves! It is cold out there!”
Solitude has come to nurture the quiet;
the season for strife and scarcity.
To hold you in hibernation, and whisper
on the wind, to the small white angels
blanketing our earthen home, urging them,
“Take great care of these ones, only for a short while will you be here.”
Solitude must stay inside to keep us watchful,
beckoning us to follow these messengers down to earth;
for Advent has drawn nigh.
December is almost here.
The vestments will be blue,
and my fingertips will be close at hand,
within this small room, holding Christ,
no longer waiting to proclaim,
“The Messiah is coming soon.”
Kelsea Willis, SSJD Companion
