a solstice prelude you said

of the last dark days

 

a song I thought

 

but I can’t read the music written

on these cold bones of winter

 

char grey stump once tree

dank mud birdfoot glyph

windstripped ash blacktipped

 

ciphers of silence

abandoned by tides of salt and time

 

far out where sea meets sky

a sliver of silver light beckons

the embossed edge of an invitation to hope

the promise of return

 

and the sweet drift of joy in a singing world

image by courtesy of Zane