There's a wonderful emptiness and silence in certain winter days; a particular light and openness. Everything is resting; waiting. On such a day, the hour before sundown is, for me, the most beautiful time. Here is a poem I wrote on the winter solstice on just such a day a few years ago.

SOLSTICE

From shadow cradled hills

And lonely sky,

No blue-dissevering bird,

No windy sigh,

No snow-portending cloud

Of rose and gold:

Only the fading light

And winter cold.

- Tod Jones

I wish you all a Blessed Solstice!