A short poem for the season.
The geometry of time finds a minimum and a maximum.
So near, so far, from the sun. Perihelion.
In the North,
day’s end is quick.
The night comes on too soon.
In the South,
it is summer’s end.
Count the hours, the minutes. The seconds repeat.
The same old, same old, same new year.
Keep the traditions;
light the fires, open the door
to the new.
Remember you are not the first.
Nor the last.