Solstice

A moment awakened to darkness while tiny lights fill the branches on the pine outside. A moment inhaled in silence, the longest night. A burning match lights innumerable candles. We celebrate here the splendor of dark as a gift given beyond the light of day; toast the good cheer; bless the bountiful meal; view as a movie the glowing red coals in the last fire of the Solstice. Oh, winter night I do love you from the inside apart, from the ice on the window to the warmth of the car as goodbyes move slowly down Walnut Street.

Nearing Solstice

The art of Winter Solstice flies west as birds on a wire do when in ritual uprising they fly into the darkest of nights as the brightest of suns blinds their eyes at 3:30pm, winter time.

 

The art of Winter Solstice flies west as birds on a wire do when in ritual uprising they fly into the darkest of nights as the brightest of suns blinds their eyes at 3:30pm, winter time.

 

The cold weather we're having in Kansas City this weekend reminds me of the socks my daughter knit for me several years ago. I took a picture and wrote a bit of story about how these socks touched me deeply.

Winter houses at 4:00pm

Art does not come from a place of definition. Since the accident, concussion seems to have borrowed my words of poetry. WordLayers remains verbally quiet. Today, I read in Bright-Fey's translation of Tao 62, "magic words will not gain you entrance." For me, "entrance" would be sound thinking and good writing. But it now seems that "magic words" have flown away and sit like birds on a wire looking down with tilted heads as I play with colors as bright as winter sun when we drive west at 4:00pm. I see this new art in "radical amazement" and to share it seems irresistible. I have never made Winter Solstice cards, but this year this art goes out the door as cards honoring the movement from dark to light for all.