Morning Scribblings

I haven’t found the words for a minute or more. But there is
something about the dark.

In the belly of the starlit morning, words tumble around me like
the sudden memory of a primeval lover.

I crawl upon the damp Earth through the winter mists as she exhales her last to the heavens from beneath. I wind on my belly over grasses golden in death and heavy with dew. Together, the grass and the dew, cast a net of stars I may only see in their reflection.

My mound waits. In the lightning-crafted hall of an elder oak, all
bare bone and branch, the smallest spark ignites a flame in this darkness, where fire and light breathe with more of that old and precious magic. And there I sit wrapped in fur and earth. Aching in that old pause which rarely seems to come.

Good Solstice! And gratitude for all the gifts you bring to this world!

12/21/2022