The winter solstice wakes
in grey light outlining the old pine. 
I step into red shoes,
ready to froth and jitter
preparing for the feast. 

The light reveals
the snow-edged road. 
as rushing gatherers,
masked and crowded,
hurry towards Bethlehem. 

The dark lurks,
in its shortening time,
waiting with its unsought balm
of a pause,
and sleep.