Nativity
Margaret M Baker reflects on a touching scene
A fine rain was steadily, silently, falling: the kind of rain only known in places like the Lake District; the kind that can continue for hours, saturating the country and all who venture forth. It was silent; as silent as falling snow would be in another season. Maybe it was appropriate that we were staying in a building that had once been a stable block, now converted into simple bedrooms – appropriate for the little scene that we were about to witness.
You need to login to read subscriber-only content and/or comment on articles.