Monday, December 8, 2025

Joy bursts electric, all sizzle and hum,
through the early darkening of not quite
winter, a cold still yet to settle, night
unfallen, shroud in hand, waiting to leap.

We make these promises, loop them around
drying boughs, weave and circle them, stand them
in icy windows, line our roofs with them
in silent refusal to freeze. Flame and

filament link us in the midst of this
premature aging, remind us of all
we’ve left to give, of the pantries to stock,
bowls to fill, hands to take into our own.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week