As I made my coffee this morning, I looked out to my perennial border edged by about seventy feet of dry laid stone wall. Patiently built by my husband about twenty years ago, it’s a fitting tribute to New England stone walls. I see his handiwork better in the winter. I remembered today is the winter solstice. Then images and words flooded my mind and a poem for the winter solstice took flight. I hesitate to share such a raw composition but it’s a year until the next winter solstice. 

A Poem for the Winter Solstice

On the shortest day of the year
When stark outlines appear against a muted sky,
When pretense is removed
And a stillness prevails.
In the garden
The stone wall emerges.
I call it the season of the wall,
When summer abundance has vanished
And the solid remains,
Like the faith that undergirds my days.

Susan Martin
December 21, 2019