Winter Solstice
December’s hush calls to me,
as I step into the kingdom of night,
frost gently crackling beneath my feet,
the sky awash with an array of stars.
Cloudless night, the Little Dipper comforts me,
a familiar friend amid this sea of heaven.
My husband joins me, his hand encircling mine,
offering welcomed warmth.
Meteors dance above us, startling spirals,
illuminating this blanket of dusk. Clusters of light
tease us. Are they galaxies, hints of a world beyond our own,
mysteries of another realm?
From the distance, a soft click clack breaks the sacred silence.
Walking to the tree line, shining our flashlight into the field,
two bucks lock antlers, halting as our beam falls upon them.
Staring, iridescent eyes reflecting back to us,
they stop and saunter into the shadows,
our presence ignored, unneeded. I exhale.
My breath becomes mist,
a ghost in the moonlight.
Renee Williams is a retired English instructor, who has written for Guitar Digest, Alien Buddha Press and Fevers of the Mind.
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