I’ve heard that the darkness of winter nearest the solstice,
when the days hasten and nights linger,
casts shadowy fears that the light may never return.
But today in the predawn, I step outside to a Cold Moon so bold
it pierces the heart of darkness with swaths of blue-tinged gray, with clouds of creamy golden hues.
A reminder to a fearful world that the sun, though hidden, thrives.
After all, it’s the sun that shares itself with Sister Moon
so she might reflect its memory to a worried nocturnal world,
reassurance that dark and light are inextricably entwined.
An owl hoots, its soft, throaty “who whooo” wafting through the darkness,
calling forth another day, honoring the transformation built into the fabric of creation.
And I know streaks of light will soon slice through Eastern skies as the dark gives birth to the light.
As it always does.
(c) 2021, Jennifer Johnston Crow