Yule Bonfire
My slightly numb fingers
Snapped the dry pine boughs
Which fed our solstice fire.
It was too early yet, for Cernunnos,
But when he finally rose, supine,
Above the mountain behind the river
He might see it, and feel familiar.
Our glowing pit might prick
The frozen black sky, reminding
Him of his return from the underworld.
Squinting at the flames,
Nestled in a forested valley,
I entered the province of the druid, who,
Clutching his mistletoe, seeing the belted hunter,
Sang the rebirth of his year.
The smell and crackle of burning sap near my feet,
Must have set in motion
The great wheel of the heavens,
For just at that moment
A cold breeze hissed in the denuded bracken,
And a screen of clouds swallowed the stars.
Now, I thought, now
Is the turning back to the light.
