House of Bread
- Timothy Dale Jones
- Dec 24, 2025
- 1 min read
(Christmas 2025)
Gradually more light.
Gradually morning sweetness
suddenly uncontained, unalone
in shadows disrobing with
effervescent yellows and pink
across hills still familiar
with things which can’t be
fully said, fully known.
But joy doesn’t require all the answers.
It’s enough to know that it’s real
and it’s reachable, waiting
to teach how it wants to be
more than written about,
how it longs to meet us
in the ongoing now,
the bodily now of warmth
emerging inside the same air
that was last night filled
with stars and angels.
Its invitation is to carry it
without guarding its source
while it tries to feed all the people.
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