We wait in the silence of a new season
moving from spring to summer
from Pentecost to Advent
from busyness to quiet.

We crouch with Mary on the straw of our messy lives
letting go of everything but this moment.

We breathe in organic and homely smells
we breathe out the impulse to push, to rush
to stock up, to plan, to get things done
—and we wait. We wait.

We listen.

It is not yet time for labour.
This is the hour of rest.
This is the time for silence, breathing,
gestation
of a nascent, quickening Christ.

(c) bronwyn angela white (2013) wellington, new zealand