I see glittering lights in white trees, tiny birds jumping between branches, dancing in the morning air. There is silence. Nothing moving, nothing stirring; no leaf, grass, or water. Only those birds, and the rain dripping from the roof.
The mist floats above the tree tops, green tops reaching into a white sky, the lake mirroring a forest and dark mountains, the trees mostly naked, waiting for the coming winter.
The world is holding it’s breath, at the entrance of winter, at the entrance of a deep darkness that will swallow everything, leaving it in a blanket of white, sleeping, resting, waiting.
The Solstice is coming, like a soft glow upon a frozen earth. A light in the darkness, people lighting their candles, flames flickering in window sills. A gathering magic, a mystical force that dips into the forest, even into the city streets. Something in us remembers, remembers the light, and in the silence, it enters our hearts.