the long night settles on us

 Winter Solstice ‘22

days shorten,

nights lengthen, 

cold air slips over us from the north

as if some dam is no longer there,

bears and people desert the high mountains,

though people can still come nearby

to frolic where the spirit of Christmas

flares in bright colored lights,

in entertainment,

in an excess of calories,

and in convivial people with whom to huddle,

and thus to deny the dying of the light,

in the forest above our place

leaves have left the trees

like Floridians heading home,

the world is starker now

with no flowers, save the remnants of a hazel,

called “witch” for its oppositional take on when to do its thing,

grays and browns dominate,

stark lines of trunk and branch

replace the billowing clouds of soft waving leaf

that seeks to let no light be unappreciated and unused,

I share a chant with my students to mark this time:

“Winter Solstice, Winter Solstice,

light is little, dark is mostest,”

the Sun comes up over the great mountain above us,

a bright beacon above the pointing creek,

I feel eldered to appreciate absence,

for without the lack how can we feel the gift of the presence,

today feels of melancholy, the dark doubt that has its truth,

the year is at its lowest ebb,

why should I deny the dark within me, and without me?

as day slips into night,

turkeys fly into the tops of trees to roost,

I watch the alpha flutter from one branch to the next:

the black silhouette of his body against the gray sky,

he flares his tail a bit as if to remember both past and future,

he takes his time to settle, so do I. . .

the long night settles on us both.

by Henry H. Walker

December  21, ‘22