Solstice Harvest.

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Bountiful.
Not the word one usually chooses for the darkest day.
Bountiful.
So it is today.

Solace as winter begins.
Feels like we’ve been here for quite some time already, snowed in as we have been since before Thanksgiving.

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in the darkness
we learn to see
with fingers
ears and tongue
dancing
in the cave
awakening
while others sleep warm
in their thick brown fur
feeding off their own fat

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Solstice Harvest.

A contradiction, you may say.
But look! It is!
There is lettuce, grown in abundance, picked fresh for the first time since planting a month or so ago from the big planter beneath the south facing window.

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And then there are the trees. The very same ones I have seen out my kitchen window day in, day out, for years, dying, dead. Our trees. Taken by the beetle. Left to await what? The fires that are the only way we know to clear the waves of destruction this chaos has left behind?

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Ah, but my trees shall have a better fate than burning.
You can take your ignorance, innocence and inability to act/react.
I will take my trees.

For now I don’t just see slipping bark and fallen needles, pin holes and dried up drip marks of golden sap.
Now I see timber, frames, walls, boards, beams and vigas.
Now, with each tree fallen and skid across the frozen Rio, I see my cabin.
And really, you know what that means.
Now I see new life.

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