Holiday gifts

Developing last year's theme of fading light...

Nothing can be spared on Solstice night.
Just to survive, I'm going to have to burn
everything within these frozen walls. I learn
that furniture is firewood, that sight
of burning memories is worth the meager light
their flames provide. I can't stop to discern
keepsake from kindling. The sun might not return
And I'd be left to freeze in dark and fright.
Then nothing's left but me. I feebly grope
toward the dying flame; like it, I'll die alone--
and, knowing this, I finally surrender.
But having given up, I'm given hope.
The light and warmth are growing on their own;
The new day dawns in miraculous splendor.


Every holiday brings a gift, and every holiday asks a gift from us. In Midwinter the gifts are hope and surrender; which comes first, and which comes from us and which from the holiday I do not know.