First Winter's Night

At dusk in November, the first winter’s night   

Crept into the pale blue air.        

When the north wind spilled its rich, deep dyes,

The light in the skies drew my eyes to the glass

And I witnessed the last sun of autumn pass.

The moment had gone. With a breath I returned

To the labor that fills each day,

To work that required four thousand breaths more

Before I opened my door and had done.                             

Too tired to wash, too tired to clean, but I let

Habit pull me through the routines.

Something outside seemed to push on the walls,

Pressed the air heavy and dim on my brow,

And too soon I slept by the lamp at the window,

The only sound three ticking clocks.

All unaware, stillness changed to a feast

When they came light on feet shod in blue, gold, and white,

With a piper’s reel and the scent of the night.

They lit every candle and toasted the flames

With a rich draught of dark honeyed mead.

Scattering crumbs of spice-cake and pie,

With a whirl and a twirl they leaped laughing by,

And the caper carried them under the sky

Once again, to dance on the paths of the moon.

But I heard the pipe and I caught the perfume,

Recalled dancing myself in the light of the moon

Long ago, and the moment of memory pierced

Like an arrow, and fiercely I felt the hot gladness

And sorrow roll down.

I leapt up and opened the door to the night

And burning there in the ink-dark sky

Met the bright eyes of all of the ancient world’s stories

Sharp-cut and clear beyond two evergreens,

My sentinels bristling stoic and tall.

In new awe of them all

I drank deep of the air, tonight a cold stream,

Clean and alive with the heartsongs of trees.

Then blowing a kiss to the moon, I

Reached up to the stars to offer a bow

In respect, and I joined the invisible crowd

In their dance on this first winter’s night.