A poem for the Winter Solstice from Ric Hudgens.

When night comes early
darkness creeping in
before we sit at supper
an urge rises beneath
my throat for connection
with this earth and all
that is connected by it.

Perhaps midlife anxieties
fix imagination on bonds
of familiarity and comforts
of the senses, but under
that thirst or hunger there
emerges an obsessive
appetite for brighter colors
that do not fade below
winter’s sterile sun.

If I remove my boots
under this solstice moon
plunging my toes deep
through thin crusts of snow
no freezing wind no
blizzard’s blast will uproot
me; and if I can do it
once I can do it again
and again and again.