We were sitting reading. Night was just beginning, the tree lit and the fire inviting us to lean in like a whisper to a bad ear. It was quiet. I reached out and ran my gnarled hand over my lover’s body searching for a warm place to tuck in. A healing place. I thought how gifted it is to have a helping lover. Her body was as much mine as hers and as welcoming to my soft wonderings as a familiar path. We sat quietly and read but my heart was being serenaded. I looked out across the river our Advent wreath and candles posing between. I turned to read again, my old hand warming, and began to think poetry. God is good. God is great. Let us thank Him.
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