Yesterday wet and cold; upcountry nearly
a foot of snow, power outage. Here only wind and rain.

People who keep track of such things celebrated
anyway, as faithful do. I waited for the sun. 

Today, glorious! Perfect to welcome back the light.
Outside, I put up strings of Christmas bulbs

for hours, only a sweater on. The door open.
Trees, now festooned in colour, drape

into the tip of sun, turning. In the garden
I trim what autumn has left behind. Sweep

the deck of everything thrown down by birds,
fill the feeder again. A neighbour comes by

to gather sage and herbs for her turkey,
a little chat. I prune the last of the roses — 

their leaves damp with dew — pick sprigs
of dusty miller gone to head, an apricot

wallflower. And then the crescent moon
rises over the weeping birch. Solstice bouquet.

© by Judith Heron.
Used with the author's permission.