The shortest day: dusk falls like a stone to earth. Yellow, with greenness of lemons in it. Carpet of snow the long night, a lopped pelt, dog or wolf. Yet, light in unexpected places. “I have come through.” My house, a traveller returned, baring the small, lit window of its heart. In-gathering of holly, conifer, red berries for birds’ beaks. Mistletoe and kindling, … Continue reading ‘Solstice’ by Pippa Little