The Quiet Grace of December 8

Sublimity in print.

Behold the Moon on the vigil’s quiet hours,

Silvering the sky amidst the dark nights

Her glow serene above shadowed bowers

And guides souls from the blinding lights.

For the moon is a mirror, so still and clear,

Of the light she bears from the Sun.

A lustre that dims every single murk of fear,

The beacon that points to the face of her Son.

She gleams above a world in pieces,

With a light not her own,

The heavens bestowed her the greatest of graces

To Mary, the vessel heaven has sown

And long before Gabriel’s whisper,

Before her fiat shook the air,

The Moon kept vigil in her silence,

As though heaven rehearsed her prayer.

“Yes,” the word that carried the weight of promise,

The answer that promised salvation for all,

Mary rose and went with haste,

A soul that let the Holy guide her call.

Mary, if she walked among us today,

In a world so fractured, restless, and marred

What does it mean to be Immaculate?

To be without stain in a world so ill and scarred.

Purity dawned not in power,

For she shone not to claim the heavens,

And the Moon, in her quiet obedience,

Leads the weary toward the Way.

Thus, the quiet grace of December eight,

The feast that first sparks Christmas Day,

Let us behold the gleam she embraced,

And let our deeds reflect the light we may.

For Mary, conceived in all sinlessness,

Is the lantern of the world’s dark east—

And the Son, rising beyond her silver,

Is the brilliance that crowns the Feast.

December 9, 2025

visuals byDK Kuizon

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kate Bernadette Ty

An artist of all trades, a master of none (yet)

06 February 2026

I remember once taking a long walk just to see a place people kept talking about. It was an uphill hike to the tip of the mountain, a stroll in a forest, roads that pass by small villages and narrow rivers, and lots and lots of potholed roads and gnarled pathways that’d cause a stumble here and there, but promised a sight that would take breaths away. It was a week-long walk. I wondered why I even started walking. The path inclined more and more that it felt more like climbing than just walking. The kilometers just increased each day. And the roads just got longer and bumpier the further I went. My legs ached so much that at that point, I couldn’t feel them. I was nauseated, flabbergasted, and dreading every next day that came. The more we continued the camino, the more reason I wanted to go back the way I came from. There was no shortcut, just the road, stretching forward, asking me to continue. That’s how the year feels so far.

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Behold the Moon on the vigil’s quiet hours, Silvering the sky amidst the dark nights Her glow serene above shadowed bowers And guides souls from the blinding lights. For the moon is a mirror, so still and clear, Of the light she bears from the Sun. A lustre that dims every single murk of fear, The beacon that points to the face of her Son.

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On November 29, 2023, former US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger passed away at the age of 100. There lies a man known worldwide, which is odd given despite being the topmost position in the executive department behind the president in history’s biggest empire, secretaries of state don’t often get to the fame, or infamy rather, of Kissinger.

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02 November 2025

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