Icy air and winds that blow the cold to us from arctic snows
remind me that it’s winter, though I need only look outside at drifted, whitened countryside and icicles dressing barn and shed;
summer’s blooms are surely dead.
And yet winter brings rare beauty too; when else are the skies as blue?
When else does birdsong ring so clear as now, when winter’s truly here?
Listen: hear the drip of melting ice, the quiet scurry of hidden mice,
the trees whispering in snowy guise.
Taste a snowflake on your tongue, trace ice crystals on windows, newly spun,
touch stars engraved in frozen night. Light the Solstice fire and burn it bright,
hear angels singing up on high,
remember all the days gone by.
Welcome winter; welcome rest; for Spring
will come, as it must
and this season, dark and cold
becomes a memory, edged in gold.