Solstice

These are dark times. Rumors of war

rise like smoke in the east. Drought

widens its misery. In the west, glittering towers

collapse in a pillar of ash and dust.

Peace, a small white bird, flies off in the clouds.

And this is the shortest day of the year.

Still, in almost every window,

a single candle burns,

there are tiny white lights

on evergreens and pines,

and the darkness is not complete.

- Barbara Crooker