The Woods in Midwinter

December, the darkest of winter months

Cold air bites, as the Midwinter Solstice approaches

From the North, a wild Arctic wind, howls through the trees

Their skeletal limbs now made bare, of any late, lingering leaves

Shaking to the ground; twigs, acorns and fragile nests

 

The night sky is clear, lighting a path through the woods

Stars shine down, through a cathedral of bare branches

Animals seek shelter in underground burrows, dens and sets

Birds return to their nests, or roost, perching on high

All life is quiet, settled, safe for the night, away from harm

 

On the Solstice Eve, for magical potency

Mistletoe, holly and ivy, are gathered by moonlight

At Sunrise, the turning of the year is witnessed

Marking the point at which we move towards the light

Promising longer days for growth and renewal