On the day of the
winter solstice,
I see a tapering spire
outside my window
atop an old building
across the street,
pointing at the sunrise
in a proud stance,
telling me to look up
into the sky and find the sun
so I can be able to foresee its
leftward advancement
toward the summer solstice,
a journey that would take
six months to reach,
six months of snow to rain,
from the pangs of winter
to the joy of summer days
in its slow moving progression,
teaching me about patience,
that it will happen eventually
and my spirits will be lifted.
 
My revitalized feeling
will overcome
my nervous anticipation
and the joy of it will be greater
when I can feel and remember
what it was lifted from.
 
An ode to the
old spire, the sun,
and their
therapeutic counseling.

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