Leaning Into Winter Solstice

In late November

Days grow grey as mourning doves

Lowering clouds crouch across the horizon

Trees stand naked, dark, along the woods line

They are mute and brave

But sometimes

Just before the planet turns its face to sleep

A filtered sunlight splits the gloom

And pours in slant rays through the air

Throwing tree shadows to dance

In the wind upon sparkling snow cover