Light streams in our eastern windows,
a soft winter brightness warming
the frost covered sidewalks
and Christmas morning in our old home.
Ancients celebrated this gift in temples
with rituals dedicated to the solstice,
to the changing arc of dawn
as sign of how our lives evolve
beyond the maddening hive,
gently lifting our faces to the light
giving thanks for the Earth,
for the mystery and magic
just this one morning
as if the Sun would not return
unless we called it by name.