solstice poem.

cedar wreath | reading my tea leaves


A tree hulks in the living-


room, prickly monster, our hostage


from the wilderness, prelude


to light in this dark space of the year


which turns again toward the sun


today, or at least we hope so.


Outside, a dead tree


swarming with blue and yellow


birds; inside, a living one


that shimmers with hollow silver


planets and wafer faces,


salt and flour, with pearl


teeth, tin angels, a knitted bear.


This is our altar.

– An excerpt from Solstice Poem by Margaret Atwood, Selected Poems II: 1976 – 1986

Other cozy things:




Mulled wine.


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