Tag Archives: Winter

Frosted fields with Van Gogh sun

But still, the Light

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Monday Morning Musings:

But still, the Light

“But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough can you see the stars.”
–from Martin Luther King, Jr., Final Speech: “I’ve been to the mountaintop”

In bleak January,
the unclothed trees shiver,
and the sun has cast herself
into the ice,
but still, she rises.

Sun reflected in icy stream

The fields are rimed with frost,
and all paths seem slippery,
a time for caution, not over-confidence,
yet, through shadows,
some rise–

Frosted fields with Van Gogh sun

Shadow across painted road crossing lines

there’s a crossroad, a moment
when the tipping point comes
and a heart so engraved by
the acid of hate implodes–
or heals–scared with gold,

kintsugi hearts, with their own beauty
like winter landscapes—
and you watch as the geese soar up
past the morning moon, working together
to find the blue

Three geese in flight
One goose flying over a fence by the river
3 Geese in flight
Morning moon and branches
Morning moon between tree branches

that you saw in dreams,
that you see now,
and you think of ancient dead stars,
ghost-broadcasting faint photons,
not infinite, but as close as we can imagine,

the luminous beacons of time,
guiding us, appearing like heroes
that glow with incandescent fire,
not eternal, but with voices that continue
to transmit, like pulsars, blinking, spinning.

tilting toward tomorrow.

Geese and gulls, low tide at Delaware River

I used some of Jane’s Random Words for the poem. And yes, Jane, more stars. They slipped in while I was writing, and I couldn’t ignore their twinkling, or Dr. King.

Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. I’m not a big fan of holidays such as this where people pay lip-service to someone while ignoring what he or she stood for the rest of the year. (Example, anyone lauding MLK who also seeks to suppress voting access.) However, I was moved by Heather Cox Richardson’s letter today on heroes.

Between the weather and work, I didn’t go anywhere this week, except to get a shingles vaccine. My husband and I both went. We know how to have an exciting date.😏 I got a few walks in though.

It was a good week for soup and bread.

Pot of white bean and chard soup
Artisan Bread on cutting board
Plate with grapes and apple slices

We finished Season 2 of the wonderful spy series Slow Horses on Apple TV. Imagine if George Smiley and his circle were mostly inept, but sometimes stumbled into something that they solved. Then we watched Black Bird, also good but disturbing, as it involves a serial killer. The disturbing part comes with the serial killer’s recounting things that viewers do not see, but can imagine. Excellent performances.

On Saturday night we watched Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery (Netflix), which was thoroughly enjoyable. I think this one is better than the first. Since it seemed like “a popcorn movie,” I made some! And we ate it with a finger-food dinner.

Long, Winter Dreams

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Monday Morning Musings:

Long Winter Dreams

The sun is a specter,
a pale wraith without
the heat of its golden youth,

its white-bearded head haloed
with wreathes of clouds
that feather

the skeletons of trees
backlit on the winter stage,
waiting for spring’s curtain call.

Now we remember summer
in our wine, and gather light around us,
echo ancient tales in newer versions
like sundial to clock
hours that pass and return

differently and the same,
like families, love,
and the river’s flow.

And so, it goes. The food, wine, sweets,
the hugs and kisses, the putting on of hats
and coats, the remembering of ghosts of before
and after

in our long, winter dreams,
the fiddler turns notes into stars—
and diamond glitter falls
so that we shine. Each of us, all.

Not much outdoor walking this past week with the recent weather. We did get to celebrate with family, and even though older child and their wife’s train was first cancelled and then the rebooked one had several delays, they eventually made it here. I hope all of you are safe and warm.

On the way to 30th St. Station on Christmas Eve

Sunrise, Christmas Eve Morning

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Sunrise, Christmas Eve Morning

This is a secret season—
the squirrels sense it, souls stirred
by leaf-rustle and bare-branched sighs,

the clouds are pewter cups
spinning without saucers
till they rest on a blue expanse,

as if waiting
for the party to begin,

and so, there is light,
ancient and always
there, our own bright star, rising

a reveille
the frosted ground echoes
with a thousand small, sparkling stars.

The Oracle gave me this message quickly today. She knows it’s a busy day and season (and I will catch up with reading when I can.) The sun is just up, but not doing too much here, as it is 7 F, as I’m writing this. Wishing all of you a happy holiday season–and some sparkles–whatever you celebrate and wherever.

Smiles of a Winter Dawn

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Moon setting in sunrise glow over the Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield.

Smiles of a December Dawn

The winter sky is red-suited,
Santa on a flaming chariot,

in almost-light, river spirits dance
and deer leap with a flash of silent white–

if I say leave, the dream goes,
a soul secret–

it is all about perspective,
vast spaces defined in a frame,

within my head, a universe,
and that universe a speck–

see how the moon is merely a smile
beckoning the geese onward?

My message from the Oracle. The photo is from last January, but it was good to see the sun rise today after days of rain and clouds. And I am often aware that my dreams are dreams.

Footprints in the Snow

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Claude Monet, Red Houses at Bjornegaard in the Snow, Norway

Footprints in the Snow

Now the hounds of winter come, shake the trees
with frosty breath, blow sharp cold weather blues
across the fallow fields, the wings of crow
write black legends, to say below the freeze.
No map is needed, no map, and no news
no travelers, merely footprints in the snow
left by whom? And when? Not feathered friend. Strange
to see bold tracks in white, some silent clues
of presence, of life, of some thing to show
I’m not alone. Now more snow, footprints change–
and go.

For the dVerse prompt using winter song titles, I attempted a curtal sonnet, which was Paul Brookes’ challenge form last week that I’m just getting to. It’s a form invented by Gerard Manley Hopkins. I don’t have the meter right.

I am the river

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Monday Morning Musings:

Delaware River with early morning clouds

I am the river

Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river. . .”
—Jorge Luis Borges

Step by step, I travel,
the river my guide, an eagle far above
with broad wings outspread, glides out of sight—
I am envious, the music of a thousand shadows
is a whispered song.

We clutch at alluring promises
with unguarded hands, seize the cards,
moon and stars—hopeful–but
we are merely passengers—trust
is a guess, nothing sanctified.

Bread, thick and toasted,
spread with butter and blueberry jam
while the wind bites and the dry air crackles–
I’m surprised by the taste of summer,
sweet and blue.

Now the air
is cinnamon and peppermint,
wax drips from candles,
warm and pliable,
how quickly it becomes cold and stiff.

Azure June days become
December’s violet nights.
Giddy romance turns practical,
but still, your hands, your smile–
which is afterthought, dream or reality?


Another almost-Cadralor from Jane’s Random Words. The start of December has been fitful.
Sunny, then miserable. My husband came down with something VERY suddenly on Friday night. Itchy nose, sneezing, congestion. He took two COVID tests, but both were negative, and he feels better now. The morning is all off–our Ricky is at the vets having his teeth cleaned. I’m hoping that is it. It makes me anxious. I think Ricky and I both like our routines.

We watched The Souvenir, Part II. I liked it, but since my husband was not feeling well and didn’t remember Part I, it didn’t make much sense to him. The director, Joanna Hogg, has a new movie out, so I wanted to finally see this one.

Now that the third and final season of Dead to Me (Netflix) is out, we’re re-watching the first two seasons (already into the second).

Christmas, 2021: Still Plagued

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Monday Morning Musings:

Christmas, 2021

Winter Solstice

We celebrate in the long dark days—
in the after–recalling what was—
and almost remembering

how we embraced
without care.

But in the lingering kiss of night,
the air whispers secrets,

and dreams float from fiddle strings
taking form–nutcrackers, marzipan castles–
shapeshifters of hope and fear in cold winter days

Nutcracker from the Pennsylvania Ballet

I baked a few cookies.

as the moon hums,
the house fills with the scent of vanilla, cinnamon,
mulled wine, and chocolate,
laughter echoes from beyond to within
and hereafter,

if you wonder–
we’ve always been in-between

shadow and light, spinning as


the colors of time bend
like giant wings, hovering, circling,
and moving on,

reflecting what is, what was, and what might be.

Puddle Reflection, December ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021

I never posted my Christmas poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. So, I’ve embellished it a bit here. I hope all of you had a joyous holiday season. It’s so very complicated trying to figure out how to get together right now, even when everyone is vaccinated and some of us are boosted. We saw some of my family on Christmas Eve—testing first, staying masked much of the time. Again, doing the same thing, we saw my husband’s family yesterday, but somehow did not take any photos.

  • Christmas Cat
  • Christmas Salad
  • Traditional Christmas Bagels
  • Dutch Baby
  • Cheese Fondue
  • This fondue is So good!


My husband and I had our now traditional cheese fondue and mulled wine for our Christmas dinner. For our Christmas brunch, I made us a Dutch baby, and we watched a show I had recorded from PBS of Alan Cumming with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra telling the full tale of The Nutcracker and the Mouse King. The story tells the origins of the Nutcracker and explains what happens to the girl and the nutcracker afterward. You can read more here.

I looked up from writing this morning to find my dining room glowing pink.

We Find the Light Again and Again

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Monday Morning Musings:

“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
—Mary Oliver, “When I am Among the Trees”

Sunrise in December

And now—the winter darkness comes,
the sun a sleepy golden cat, who rises on arthritic limbs
to sight the birds on leafless boughs
and make the holly berries gleam,
before he settles back to nap
in grey blankets glimmered-glowed.

The sun already low in the sky at 3:30 in the afternoon. The Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield

And now—we see the nests above,
the treasures hidden by summer’s green,
and birds chitter-chat, and squirrels flitter past
gathering nuts for their cold repast,
while vultures soar, then bide their time
in silent committees in meetings of time

that flows like the river, light to darkness
to light again,
we touch match to candles, watch them burn–
the miracle is, we’ve endured,
we drink and eat and love, let out a sigh, a cry–
the shadows gather—

Early morning geese, Delaware River

December Sunrise

but so does the light. Bird-chased,
we follow after. There, the trees in cinnamon gowns,
and the glitter of snow on evergreen—there, a flame
brightens, while the sleepy cat says goodnight—
knowing he will wake to love,
while in the darkness we toast, “to life!”

Last night was the last night of Hanukkah. We bought another wine tasting kit, and we tasted a white (German Riesling) and a red (Australian Pinot Noir) while watching the candles burn.

The winter solstice approaches, and there is a lot of darkness in the world–and it’s growing. Don’t let it. Don’t let the anti-democratic forces or the anti-science crazies win. Shine the light wherever you can.

The Clouds Fly By

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Odilon Redon, “The Muse on Pegasus“

And in the after-fever, haunts and haunted linger–

but with a beat, the dream ends,
and above my bed, the moon still sings
of time and love, and endless things—

of winter aches and purple storms,
of thousands dead, and the forlorn

recalling spring, mourn the light–
today there will be no rose-pink dawn amidst the shadow-spray,
only grey.

Yet cloud-fingers point, as if to say
behold the way the diamond-sparkle plays
on the ripples there–those other days.

Your heart cries why, your head knows when
the honeyed glow comes,
you’ll see the beauty once again.

My message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. When I looked outside early this morning, I thought, there’s no rosy dawn today. It’s cold and windy, and the sky was full of dark clouds. The Oracle always knows.

Do you recall?

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Shadows and reflections on an overcast morning in December. Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2020

Come, ask for color—
a fired sky, a dazzle-day,
brilliant blue and champagne-clouded

like kisses of joy
falling–

go fish for them
in the vast sea of the universe,
storm-tumbled

secret voices, lingering
in ghost-whispered rhythms
exploring

all, how, when,

and if roses recall summer–
and if you do.

Today’s message from the Oracle with a photo from this morning. It’s unseasonably warm, but it was damp and foggy earlier this morning.