Author: Karin Gottshall

  December is a poltergeist, noisy with carols and nor’easters. My familyis a wolf pack, and we celebrate Christmas stalking something timid and gamey: a goodnight’s sleep or lost souvenir spoon from a trip to Montréal. Lo, the churchyard bears the symbol of a virgin birth: a nativity whose sheepkeep turning up on the ridge, throats…