Midwinter

The shortest day;
a low globe of iced melon sun.
Our burning friend is at his
southernmost,
a stony face looking out upon the mud.
All landscapes here are monochrome,
the colour saving itself
for brighter times.
All birds fly in silhouette.
All thoughts tend towards reflection.
The longest night;
midwinter but a moment in time.
We hurtle towards the end of the year,
knowing not what awaits us,
knowing only what has been.

This poem appears on the Stonetape Recordings CD Midwinter Folk, exclusively produced for the event Midwinter Folk, a one-day festival raising funds for Leigh Folk Festival in collaboration with Sundown Arts, which was held on 14 December 2013. www.leighfolkfestival.com