Tag Archives: Winter Solstice

Solstice 2

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

It is the darkest
of all days so far
this year.
I’m sure it will
never be light again,
never with bright sunshine
and hidden breezes.

But tomorrow
will show up,
and the light
will gain over the dark,
and you will be running
down spring’s path,
clinging to my arm.

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Winter Solstice

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

She rolled
up the mat,
turned out
the lights,
and we are plunged
into darkness.

December is like
living in a cave,
but the earth
will not hear of it,

unfolds her fetal position
in her darkened room
and allows light to emerge
longer in the morning
and afternoon—

Sunlight able
to warm our deepest bones.

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Winter Solstice

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Light is returned to light
on the high desert.
December’s darkness
never reaches the ground
like in the northern regions.

The north,
where once snow drifted
over tops of fences
and cold nights turned drifts
into white, frozen dunes
solid enough to support
the weight of a young girl and her dog
as she ran to celebrate
new-found freedom.

It was here,
near the southern corner of the field,
where she saw the great snowy owl.
He dipped down to her level,
scrutinizing her
with piercing yellow eyes.
She felt both fear and amazement
as the great white body
brushed near her face,
close enough to see the black spots
on his white feathers.

Now we roll the darkness
with our feet
into the fire,
amazed by the brilliance
of the light.

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Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry