I am always filled with a bit more optimism on this day. To know that days are now getting longer and that soon I will wake in the light rather than the dark is heartening. The sun (and light) is such an integral part of my psychic lift. It is from this place that I offer a poem and two photographs.
~ after lines from Jane Hirshfield
The winter solstice is upon us. Under the darkest of night skies
I think not about the blackness, sorrow, perversity,
or the certainty of earth’s destruction. I think about beginnings:
the return of the swans, like little gods, their bodied grace
rises out of the dark; the emergence of snowberries
on winter twigs, white-light switched-on, bright spots of hope
some genius invented for the greatest possible glow;
or the opening fanfare of winter pansies in my garden
which, by solar-sense, turn their little faces to follow the sun.
And in the dark I move closer to you, to become a single thing,
all desire, warmth, breath, flesh glowing sweat, giving
everything. And everything in us wants to begin
the whole thing again from the beginning.
Wrapped in these heavenly rhythms, we, too, turn
towards the light to wake with the sun on our faces.