A crow calling
Stirring a wind symphony in the trees,
Deep in winter woodland
The magical child of solstice peeps out.
Beneath the carpet of wet leaves
A turmoil of roots –
Listen carefully, water sings.
Rising and descending in the darkness
Arms outstretched groping for the Way -
Neither up nor down, inside nor out,
At last, the stream’s song can be heard.
Bare branches entangling deep sky stars -
Asleep yet not still.
The depth of winter dark
Reaching the bottom of the cycle
Holding to the knowledge
All is spiral, never stilled.
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