Before it came to be, in a twinkling
long away, there was but lorn darkness
without light, form, or play.
Nothing spinning, nothing bright
just a hum, a still murmur
on a cold, empty night.

Who can imagine, who wonders aloud
what caused it to be, our heavenly shroud?
So long ago, so far away
came a great light, with a bang so they say
but nay, rather with a shudder then a click,
the lighting, bright flaring, of a wick
in a vast, silent, and dark night
with none, so we think, to see its light;
propelling stars, engendering moons,
birthing water and stone, morning and noon.

The cold lowering winter sun
breathes with frosted breath,
gleams on snowy fields and frozen streams.
Far away we are from where we once began
standing on creation’s slender lip
where was night, nothing, all, and then…

Portland, Oregon – December 20, 2018, eve of the winter solstice.

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