on the Winter Solstice
#calm #invocation #light #solstice #stillness #winter #winter2023 #wintersolstice #wintersolstice2023
A man rides his bicycle on the sea. Salt rubs the tires. Sun reflects on the soles of his shoes.
The Maine woods. The coastal woods. Where coming into Spring he resides, is at home. Where he keeps a fire burning
It was a wet signature. Full of emotion. Full of eroticism. Still wet, with sweat
Land dwellers. Sea rovers. Tillers. Spelunkers. Before you ask the questions many ask; have asked since man
Blonde head under baobab. Sun under shade. You sit on an African day,
It’s an early Spring morning of bellsong and birdsong, sunsong
Back in time, a romantic era of English Time, they used to send a son or daughter off
Between the keys. Between the chords. Between the notes. Between the sound you make
To ask your Self. In the still of the night, whether bright-starred or half-mooned. In the midst of the day,
Burnished at first, then blemished— an earthly foreshadowing. Then bearded for a while.
Red lights flaring like Roman candles at empty intersections. Headlights wanding like blind men’s sticks
When the Moon moves between our Sun, Earth and up-raised eyes, through the long-held breath of our wisdom-keepers,
Days and nights of pines and stars. Of blue bays, white schooners, top-down
Those many, sung and unsung, who gave themselves, often gave up their lives, to fight, in wars,
At precisely 9.25. When the moon, the first and most abundant one of the new year,