Textual Arachne

A weaver of threads.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

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.