A happy winter solstice! — to the splintered
airborne ice that flails the high plains, now.
In hours, its reach will touch us, teach us how
a storm must scourge and scour. Her mild ways countered,
crossed, and snow-cursed under — Autumn, wintered,
bids farewell; and chilling gusts endow
with speed her ghosting leaves. Let Night allow
the days their day, soon! What the storm has entered
is the door to our new Solar year —
a door now dark and closing. Understand
this: we must take this gift, without demand
for any blessings not our own. Storm-fear
besets us while a Hope, cold-winged and grand
in snowy splendor, knows her time is near.
