🌿 Winter Womb Song 🌿

I cradle the Winter Solstice
Saturnalia like an ember in my palms,
the bones of this land humming underfoot,
frost lacing outstretched grasses
like silver prayers.

Here, in the dim breath between years,
I breathe for us all: 
for the unheard wind voices,
for the rivers that once danced free,
for the thirsty roots pressing deep into ancestral soil.

This Christmas, Mother says,
there is a liturgy in the cold,
a soft insistence woven through every bare branch
that asks us to remember:
we are made of earth’s own longing,
her echo in bone and breath.

The season feels like a trembling,
truth bared by candlelight,
a reckoning stitched into the blue-black sky.
The political storm outside
rages with greed and fear,
shouts and fractures and flimsy crowns;
here, inside the quiet kernel of winter
I hold a different fire:
a flame rooted in rose-heart hope,
feminine, fierce, unashamed.

We are promised no easy peace!
...only the sacred work of tending
the wounded green beneath snow,
the gentle naming of each lost name,
the fierce remembrance of those
whom power tried to erase.

I hear her, Mother Earth singing
beneath the hum of drones and gridlock,
beneath the clatter of headlines and hunger,
the slow chant of the seeds in dark earth
dreaming toward spring.

And so, this Christmas,
I offer my unquiet tenderness
as balm and blade,
my body as altar,
my voice as tribute.

May we plant futures in the cracked soil, 
gentle as prayer,
alive as breath.

May the dark teach us compassion,
may the night soften our judgments,
may our hearts be fertile again
like the earth after rain.

And when the sun returns:
a promise inked in dawn
may we rise in reverence,
hands open,
bare to the wind,
ready to sow new worlds
with the fierce grace of love.