Along the frozen lane I walk between bare fields just kissed by ice.
December’s first in dawning sparks this grey to life reflecting twice
the leaden sky, the frozen blades of summer, still.
The crack of amber low and long igniting gold across the hill.
Echoes of November’s snow sit heaped within each fence post’s lee,
hidden from the hushing wind but caught in dawn’s sweet reverie
that calls a haunt of diamond light to stand and glimmer true,
that pulls a hope from autumn’s mist now long beyond this season’s view.
The barn to which I make my way sets warmth upon my bones in knowing
that sheep and cows, horses, pigs will gladly greet my face in showing
gratitude toward morn’s sweet light, peace that day has come,
hope in that the grains I feed will bless this cold December some.
So December greets the year,
I and mine in turn, the same,
open doors to gaining light,
echoing the year’s last claim…