Winter Solstice

As the longest evening settles in, the grandmother tree unfurls a canopy of leaves like a freshly washed sheet.  A smidgeon of moon becomes a modest beacon for the first bird to arrive in this new year.  Most likely a crow with a message.  Listen.  Please.  

Whatever it was

originally, now it has wreathed itself, and given itself a center of red.  Soon it will spin.  No fret, you have cosmically been spinning all your life.  Are you prepared for Winter Solstice.  

 

Let there be light

May we remember so there is a place at the table for each of us.  

 

Time to make time

Soon, it will be Winter Solstice.  That time to make time to center inward.  Then, time to move outward.  Much like a spoon does for soup.  A pen to poem.  Nothing happens before a still moment.  Perhaps, beauty.  Perhaps, grace.  Yes, to both.

Intersecting hearts with stones

With a little help from an iPhone app, of course.  

Doesn't the kitchen get help (or magic) from salt & herbs?

Doesn't a line of poem become, because of the appearance of a crow?  

Or the gathering of stones?

Or a walk in a succulent garden?

Less than a week to Winter Solstice -- imagine that!