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Winter Solstice

Stand quietly at years end,

witnessing the dance

of emptying

the body

to stillness.

The stillpoint of winter.

The moment

after the out breath

and receding of tide,

when sap’s gone inward,

deep as marrow.

When dreamtime is arising

hope — delicate as sapling

and small seed planted at dusk —

whispers this prayer

in urgent tones:

“Touch all obstructions;

witness the layers

that deaden and dark;

unfold and unfurl

this tender path of heart.”

On hearing this incantation

we begin

to turn,

releasing the old year,

sighing out the bones.

And empty with longing,

discover we’ve rooted over night.

Homecoming greets us,

effortless and easy

as the dawn’s arrival.

Eyes open


to the morning light.

New moon

heart song.

Silver seeds

planted at winter solstice.

Mari Joyce 2019 ©

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