Solstice Gifts


As I walked into the Cheshire house last night, over a very icy and treacherous walkway, the door opened and ashes, alight with coals, were scattered out onto my path. It reminded me of phytoplankton or glow in the dark fungus, or something miraculous. Glowing lights to mark my path and keep me safe. Brilliance in the dark. I said to the being who was doing the scattering: A solstice miracle. Yes the being said.

Driving down John Yale Road to retrieve Amaru from Dungeons and Dragons, Itzel and I stopped to watch at least sixty turkeys, sipping and grazing in the sun-slanted, evergreen woods. The turkeys a shifting mosaic of iridescent brown against the white ground. As they headed up hill to our right, we could tell which ones were last year’s babies.

Amaru was killed in the game today but he is already planning his new life.

This morning my Up-the-River neighbor wrote to me about the “marbleized end papers of pink and blue in the eastern sky, at 7:06” and told of a raven she saw yesterday wandering the field in back of their house. When she is outside and sees the ravens fly over, heading down the river, she calls to them. As they fly over me, on their way further down the valley, I do the same. In this way they connect us.

I slept in Cheshire in the room that will be Nayeli’s. The crows woke me well before dawn.

Itzel decided that Santa Claus was a bear, not a raccoon. (because he heard “big” footsteps in the night).

A young friend sent me her painting of the night giving birth to the sun, “after rocking it all night long.”

Her mother sent me a picture of their solstice seed mandalas, taken by candlelight.

In Cummington, a cecropia chrysallis hung folded into a leaf on a young maple, and I made a resolution to speak the truth to myself.

When we walked out of the house this bright morning, Atalanta noticed that the hemlocks had all dropped their seeds. Hemlock seeds by the thousands peppered the frozen ground. It took our breath away that this would have happened on such a magic night. Tiny signals of hope in a hard time, a strewn offering to the future from our beloved, dying giants.

Faith in a Seed.