Cold soft dusk.
Branches finely criss-cross above us,
While below the thick roots hold our sheep skins to cradle us.
.
A candle burns in the darkening silence.
.
What has grounded us this year?
What has lifted us up?
What has kept our spirits strong?
– Kept us connected?
.
The tawny owls call.
The world feels better for them being there.
The rootedness of our beings meets with the tree roots,
As we become more grounded for the coming year.
We look on from where we are, the darkest point,
The central point when the spiral will turn outward again.
.
Our hearts are soft as the darkness, and I feel such sadness.
.
But, you tell me,
There is light –
In our hearts,
There is light –
In the midst of this darkness,
There is light.
.
The roots cradle us,
The heavy feathered branches of the cedar
Protect us from the haze of rain.
The tawnies call.
The candle burns.
.
Turning outwards, to what will ground us,
What will support us this coming year,
What will bring us connection.
There is light, you tell me,
In the midst of the darkness,
In the centre of our hearts,
There is
.
Light.
Collectivists 