The sun is a fairweather friend.
We practice Thanksgiving as the nights lengthen to remind us that winter’s not forever,
Spring is damn near guaranteed (eventually),
and death is a beginning, not an end.
But darkness enfolds us, encroaches further into the productive day.
We are tempted to rise and roost with the chickens,
but then the earth tilts just too far,
Day gets just too short,
Night gets just too long,
Until we punch through the curtain,
embrace the night,
and write poetry in the dark.