Christmas Traveling

Early dark - December dusk;
headlights cocoon us,
still - we want the welcome which lies
just out of view:

The old home place - oil lamps -
delicate curtains and crocheted doilies;
Ghost scent from the coal stove;
Sunday dinner still on the table
beneath the checked cloth;
A hall tree laden with coats,
boots and gloves piled just inside the door;

A stairway which waits to be climbed,
waits for the exhale,
the purr of bodies beneath winter quilts,
waits to bestow the 2 AM creak.

December dark evening -
headlights and home enclose us
but we still want
what lies just out of sight:

Mystery, magic, excitement, romance;
Solace for the tears;
Bounty for every child;
A gift on the table
wrapped in cotton cloth
tied with silk ribbon;

Here the dilemma -
Will a mystery opened bring disappointment?
Do we want answers
or only the constant desire?

May you never loose

the wish for magic,
the allure of Bethlehem.


December Villanelle

Here, in the near blue light
The holiness of happiness happens,
Leads us toward a blessed night.

While universes spin their own delight,
We lean toward that which beckons.
Here in the near blue light

Beside us now the birds takes flight
Soar gently – linger at the margins
Lead us toward a blessed night.

Where questions hold us tight
And answers promise options
Here in the near blue light

Falling now toward twilight
Anxious to embrace this season
Which leads us toward a blessed night.

This journey joins us – is our birthright
Moves us out beyond all reason
Here the near blue light
That leads us toward a blessed night.

pine tree
whispers a green
story of hope.  Cold wind
mummers a white song of grace.
Cardinal shouts a red promise of truth.
The solstice has turned time, and minute
by minute we move toward the light of joy!

Peace & Light To You!

Wind blows in the Hunting Moon of December.
Snow moves out beyond Pocahontas County,
spreads the shawl of Winter across West Virginia.
Those in the eastern mountains
learn early, in the slate of this month,
the love for spruce and cedar,
the scent of things not dead.
Daily farmers go out to feed,
break ice at watering holes,
this is their task till spring.
Days are cold and silent,
we search for light and heat.
The paradox of winter tells us
that life is death, and death is life,
there is little separation now.
The sun wanes into the Winter Solstice
the shortest day surrounded by the longest nights.
Logs blaze in this Holy Month as we
watch shadow of pine on ground and snow,
shout an emerald blessing.