In the month of dismay

White linen curtains flow in the breeze, on an arid yet dry spring.

The oxen are rejoicing in the field, counting another relative into the fold.

The midwife exclaims, 'he comes backwards'! Instead of falling on his head like everyone else in this culture. He decisively lands on his feet.

All the animals run to and fro by the window trying to gaze if for a moment indirectly at the divine event. Birds singing a new song.

Mother travails like never before, pain is beyond her simple measures. After the last nudge of nature he pushes his way into reality.

When she looked at him she felt pain no more, only love. 'At first I was in dismay', she said. But now I know he was meant to be.