Tonight the December wind is chill,
Blowing in over the northern hills,
Northern lights and moon are fleeting,
Wind chimes time the old Earth leaving.
Walking over the bridge, I hear the stream
Murmuring in the dark of night,
See rippling movement at the edge of the lake,
Something flowing under the ice….
Even in the dark, I feel hope.
Perhaps hope always begins in darkness,
Stubbornly waiting for the dawn—-
What else to do in dark but wait and watch?
By the light of the quarter moon,
We pray for the best as we wait in waxing phase,
Anticipating the unpredictable unfolding
Shimmering movement breaking forth.
If we wait, there may be an exploding star
Announcing the inescapable future,
The birth of more hope than words describe….
On this I meditate and fill my lungs with breath.