She goes to the quiet Church in Milford Bay, our Isadora. Down winding snowy streets, past Butter & Egg road, to the place where candles glow on honeyed oak walls as you sing carols. Drink back deeply; dark crimson wine from the golden cup, offered to you and all mankind. Taste its iron; move it over your tongue and feel its warmth as it travels down inside you, warming you at your centre. Shake hands and greet your Brothers and Sisters; old friends and new faces. Break bread together, kneel, give thanks. Move to the back with glowing cheeks and warm ears. Hug each other; kiss and breathe in strong perfumes that mix pleasantly with the welcome, cool, midnight air as you venture out into the close and holy darkness. Big, ripe flakes gently begin to fall; in the stillness the world is perfect. Celebrate, for you are loved. Merry Christmas to all; I love you.
I like this look, contemplative. I like the slight jutting out of her chin.
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