#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,

now you are uncurled and cover our eyes

with the edge of winter sky

leaning over us in icy stars.

Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,

come with your seasons, your fullness, your end.

Winter Solstice Chant, By Annie Finch

The part of today, the shortest day and longest night of the year, that meant the most to me was leading a ritual for my dear friend’s 70th birthday combined with the solstice in the tent after dark with a very close circle of friends. I started the fire to warm the tent. Lit the lanterns, assembled the reading materials. Met my friends in the yard and we walked, arm in arm in the dark over the frost-heaved grass and dirt to the tent. Toasty warm, we honored our friend, we honored the solstice. We had intimacy and deep connection in the dark. Sister friends in the woods. The wind blew through the trees. We chanted Annie Finch’s chant and passed the talking stick. That kind of nourishment. The kind that feeds the soul.