Yesterday wet and cold; upcountry nearly
a foot of snow, power outage. Here only wind and rain.
People who keep track of such things celebrated
anyway, as faithful do. I waited for the sun.
Today, glorious! Perfect to welcome back the light.
Outside, I put up strings of Christmas bulbs
for hours, only a sweater on. The door open.
Trees, now festooned in colour, drape
into the tip of sun, turning. In the garden
I trim what autumn has left behind. Sweep
the deck of everything thrown down by birds,
fill the feeder again. A neighbour comes by
to gather sage and herbs for her turkey,
a little chat. I prune the last of the roses —
their leaves damp with dew — pick sprigs
of dusty miller gone to head, an apricot
wallflower. And then the crescent moon
rises over the weeping birch. Solstice bouquet.
© by Judith Heron.
Used with the author’s permission.