Winter Solstice
Couldn't see trees for forest's dark despair.
A cozy cabin in Mendocino
light shining through orange papered window
should brighten me. I couldn't feel or care.
So much rain, was it rain that brought it on?
Couldn't see glistened branches, emerald moss.
No place so beautiful, for me: lost,
even chilled to the bone on meadow lawn.
Year's darkest night brought dawn. Rain still happened
but waking I could see, new light dappled
on fields, and in barn filled with golden hay.
Perhaps painting eggs brought the joy to stay.
Brush stroked care not to break ornament
colors strung on our tree: Christmas present.
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