Solstice

Late dawn greets
gritty nine o'clock
dogday dancers
with a contaminated
cotton candy,
woollen blanket,
cold and damp,
mufflling a sighing cityscape.

Threatens to strangle
suffocate, suppress
even the tiniest sparkle,
any personal sun,
as well as the light
that barely shines
anyway from above,

breathes blank Celsius
down necks, into eyes
through cloth and skin.

Everything crouches
under the pressure
of those heavy posers
looming gloom.

Then...

nightfall comes,
barely noticed,

and winter breaks free.

Quicksilver falls,
cotton candy shakes,
and a dance of crystal pixies
fills the air,

spreading that blanket
of brightest white,
your childhood's magic
icing sugar...

Then parting, leaving,
opening the curtains

to a full orb stage
where a choir of stars
sings the chorus to an
Aurora Borealis symphony.

Half a Luna rises,

on an even higher note,

and the night is brighter
than the day.

In solstice,
heads thrown back,
eyes wide open, enchanted
we watch the wonders

and our personal suns
ignite anew.

So that tomorrow,
when once again the sky
refuses to shine,

we can glow that light
on contaminated cold
gray gloom cotton candy,

from within.

.