Great nights returning, midnight’s constellations
Gather from groundfrost that unnatural brilliance.
Night now transfigures, walking in the starred ways,
Tears for the living.
Earth now takes back the secret of her changes.
All the wood’s dropped leaves listen to your footfall.
Night has no tears, no sound among the branches;
Stopped is the swift stream.
Spirits were joined when hazel leaves were falling.
Then the stream hurrying told of separation.
This is the fires’ world, and the voice of Autumn
Stilled by the death-wand.
Under your heels the icy breath of Winter
Hardens all roots. The Leonids are flying.
Now the crisp stars, the circle of beginning;
Death, birth, united.
Nothing declines here. Energy is fire-born.
Twigs catch like stars or serve for your divining.
Lean down and hear the subterranean water
Crossed by the quick dead.
Now the soul knows the fire that first composed it
Sinks not with time but is renewed hereafter.
Death cannot steal the light which love has kindled
Nor the years change it.
Image: Tom Cross, Serpent Mound Winter Solstice