Up in the long and holy night,
when the Earth and Moon and Sky
inhale and hold and wait-
to watch the world turn.
In the brittle silence;
we could hear the distant clash of staves
and the breaking heart of darkness
crunching in the snow underfoot.
The King is dead- long live the King.
Returning home,
we gathered oak branches
from the snowy field
to light the path to Summer.
- written December 21 2016, just remembered about it.
