The longest night is over,

and the shortest day arrives

in cloud and mist and freezing cold.

Winter bites,

tearing jagged pieces from the day

until the light is gone.

Blaze, fire in the cold hearth,

and chase the shadows of the year,

the ghosts of all the broken things

left behind by stormy tides,

picked and pecked by crow birds at the tideline.

Leap, flame, and paint the walls with dancers,

for even the dead must have light

to show them the way home.


Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

2 thoughts on “Solstice”

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