A Holiday Cheer

Advent
Marking the passage of the waning year
In meaning-laden silence, autumn’s end
Pauses the seasons’ slow pavane for love and
reverence’ sake
And stills the mountains with anticipation.
 
In my mist-shrouded canyon’s not-quite-rain
Steeps what I call the Woods of Damocles
Where every trunk seems poised to fall across my fated path,
Awaiting but a nudge to tilt the balance.
 
Up at the mountain pass, each laden branch
Now bears its coat of fresh snow well enough,
But contemplates a future plop of slush down
children’s backs
A jest as sweet and mischievous as spring.
 
That wise and seasoned harvester the squirrel,
Building his walnut store for leaner days,
Stops to review his work, his efforts calmed, and sniffs the air,
Pondering soon a shift from toil to rest.
 
But I — too far removed from winter’s want
To note the line that separates excess
From sweet sufficiency — I labor on to build my hoard
Though, all around, the Earth sighs “hold: enough.”
 
Indeed, were I but still, I might perceive
All Nature holding fast, with bated breath,
Biding its time, as patient as the stars that wheel above,
Waiting to sing, with Heaven, of Christmastide.
Claire Beorn Norman, Scotts Valley