I've had the feeling all this day, my hands will hold a newborn child tonight. For here in Bethlehem, the crowds pour in, and there’s such life, such jostling and good cheer, despite the hardships of our getting here and wondering where we’d find to sleep. But finally we’ve settled in a stable cave, where all that’s left is one small space, a hollow, far in back, where no one’s set up camp. And now just look: Here come a man and his young wife, so large with child (a boy, by how she carries him) and yet so easy on her feet she seems to glide to that hollow surely saved for them. I make my way to greet them, telling who I am and what I do, and how my hands have told me that a child will come into this world, this cave, my hands, tonight. She looks into my eyes, says I am right. She’s known it too. I know what to do, and as I’ve done so many times before, I ready her for what’s to come. And soon the head emerges and I see the little