Winter wages its annual war -
Cold and Dark its lieutenants in a
Bitter, gloomy series of skirmishes,
Hoping that a two-pronged attack
Will be enough to finish us.
Days are shortened, darkened,
A candle burning at both ends.
"Cower in the blackness, yes,
While my bitter, frigid brothers
Claim the warmth and heat you so
Desperately desire."
And so, too, the warmth is stolen from us.
But, every time it seems Winter's war
Is going to plan, it falters and hesitates in disbelief -
Its agents have caused not sorrow, not death, but
A midwinter celebration; a defiant marker
By those who chose to make their own warmth,
Shine their own lights, singing songs and laughing.
"We've made it this far, and we aren't letting up."
Solstice:
An annual reminder to Winter that Darkness
Is not hopelessness; it is simply a veil under which
everything sits during its short reign.
Everything we hold dear is still here,
Out of sight; but not out of reach.