This time of year,
during the long, dark days,
when the sky hangs so close
overhead
like a dark blanket,
we string lights to counter
the gloom, stoke the fire,
wrap ourselves in fleece,
sip hot drinks.
We are not so much celebrating
the season,
the season,
as in happier years, as we are,
like snowbound bushes,
fallow fields,
small leaping foxes,
fallow fields,
small leaping foxes,
or perhaps a sleepy hedgehog
poking an inquisitive nose
out of his burrow,
dreaming of,
anticipating,
reaching for the light.
anticipating,
reaching for the light.
We do indeed string lights to counter the gloom as we await the return of the sun. Happy solstice to you Sherry!
ReplyDeleteSometimes its not much comfort that the Wheel turns toward light again -- another year of this? And yet the marrow certainty of it keeps the critters about their work on Earth. Happy solstice, Sherry.
ReplyDeleteWonderful, but perhaps I am just among those who do all the poem mentions, the lights, the warm drinks and blankets, and definitely using the long and chilled nights to reach to the light.
ReplyDeleteAnticipating the light, indeed.. but the new year will not bring any respite from war and destruction - the world is broken, sadly :(
ReplyDeleteGood years or bad, the hanging of lights is about getting through the longest and darkest nights...
ReplyDeleteI feel this poem.
ReplyDeleteAh, it seems the dark days we always go through are so much darker this year - in every sense!
ReplyDeleteAdorable!!! Sweetly put. My favourite season maybe.
ReplyDelete