The Sacred Pause

We think of the Solstice as 21  December but this year it is actually today, 22nd.  I love it that nature has pauses – at the Sol (sun) stices (standing still) and at the turn of the tides too.  This one is so longed for in the rush and hype of December.  I celebrated it earlier in the week and it was magical – we walked to the river in silence and dark.  Lit a fire beside the water and the bare trees and below the stars.  It always seems the more natural end to the Advent spiritual journey rather than Christmas but certainly, it’s lovely to have both.

Talking of waiting, there is no sign of my book so that must be appearing after Christmas, like my cards!  In my imagination, the hut beckons in December so I was not suprised that it found its way into my Christmas poem this year.  I offer it here, wishing you the peace of the little and the ordinary and the peace of the sacred pause.

A Winter’s Tale

I came here with a flame within.

It lights and leads me on

through dawns of mist and sparkling fields

and webs with hoarfrost hung.

I followed towards the wintry wood

through silver columns of trees,

on pale stones crossed the trickling stream

and glimpsed below, a fish’s gleam.

And when the sun was at its height

I leant against some lichened bark.

I shelled and ate a shiny egg

and drank cool water from my flask.

The ocean’s waves they called me on

with each breath’s rise and fall.

Down old sheep walks, gulls cry and glide

and settle and bob upon the tide.

And as the milky light did fade

and the chalky cliffs they stood and shone

the sun went down behind the sea

but I was far from home.

Which way to go I did not know

for the dusk it gathered with my fears.

The night fell thick, the hours moved slow

and nameless creatures stirred.

And so I stopped in stillness there

to listen to the world about.

Though lost and pathless and gone astray

the owls and darkness bade me stay.

I came here with a flame within

that kindles in quiet and deepest dark

for silence sheds its light to see

and guides us by the stars.

And so I wandered on and up

across black fields and branch and thorn

I faltered and stumbled until I saw

a glow from window and lamp from door.

There in the distance past the trees

in a clearing, an old cabin stood

and as I came close, by the fire-wood pile,

snow was floating and fallen awhile.

Before I knocked and entered there

with moonlight on my back

I smelt the woodsmoke in the air

and breathed with thanks my vapoury prayer.

If you are worn and weary this Christmas night

and stop to listen to my story here

know that between the porch-light and the heavens

the skies are alive and crackle with care.

c. Tess Ward 2011