Winter Solstice

Poem for the Winter Solstice

 One morning
you raise the east window blinds
and there
is the sun, hunched on the horizon,
doing its
best to break free, shunting aside
a few
clouds as it hoists itself in readiness to skate
a frigid
rink of sky, firing that cloud layer
deceptive warmth, an intense roseate glow.
This is winter
, you say to yourself,
but then
you realize — and it comes as a shock —
that the
sun has risen so far south, you feel
your house
has been wrenched a quarter-twist
to the
right while you slept. You check your watch —
migod, it’s
coming nine o’clock.
When did
this happen?
The wall
calendar tells you it’s December,
something deep within you has clung
to the
lingering warmth of snowless autumn.
The body
deplores this retreat towards the dark,
the dimming
days, the physical affront of cold.
unseen crevices within us are busy
the spirit for spring.
Used with the author’s permission.
Wishing you a great shortest day of the year – it’s only getting brighter from here!

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