Waiting for the Light

 

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The dark creeps in early these rainy afternoons.
A squirrel scampers across the yard
hoping to find a secret nut,
to hide for his Christmas dinner.
What is sleeping now,
waiting through winter darkness
to emerge in spring?

I sow dreams of social and planetary justice;
may they take root in human hearts,
and flourish there. May hope come again
into the minds of humankind.

The animals burrow deep
in wet, cold earth,
hiding from rain, and us,
sleeping through the hungry months
of winter.
We pace our solitary rooms,
light candles, listen to tunes
of peace and goodwill,
songs of spirits rising,
songs of  forging
a future for all earth's children
and all creatures, great and small.*

Our hearts are resting, too,
like sleepy bears,
watching for light to reach
our dark, dank caves.
I have to believe we will emerge
from our long winter
our spirits fortified for the work ahead:
healing the many ills,
(both physical and societal,
oppressive and imposed),
mending the wounds of racism
and inequity, replacing toxic rhetoric
with words of respect and dignity,
binding Mother Earth's wounds
with loving compassion.

Before I leave, this is what
I want you to know:
Life is defined by what we let in,**
not by all that we
let go.

I turn my face to the east,
watch for that light
to climb the sky and usher in
a more enlightened
and transforming spring.

for earthweal, where the topic is Advent. The italicized lines are from:
*a book series by James Herriott and
** from a Wild Writing with Laurie Wagner exercise.