Winter Solstice
You find a place where
the sun reaches across
the river with a little feeble
warmth to rest on your face.
Soon it will be the shortest day.
The shadows are cold
and stretch out like fingers,
pinching at what light
you've managed to keep
flickering within yourself.
You find something pleasant
to think about, a memory
perhaps, a fancy,
anything to put into
an old heater to keep
you warm and give out
a comforting glow.
It is then, images begin
to take form in flame
as something in you stirs
and writes itself in ash
to mark another winter solstice
on the walls of your
hibernating soul.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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