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.