The goddess Winter Night can be seen just short of the horizon, peaceful and beautiful,
not cold, just powerful. She knows of her effects.

She has slowed her chariot over us, and Autumn has left quietly, letting her ocher and
scarlet leaves make their suicide jump, they know it is not only part of their life,
but a gesture of respect.

She is a loving goddess, and spreads her arms, embraces the earth in innocence;

And in her love, and in her innocence, she forgets she is not warm like the Sun,
and therefore ends the life of many creatures

Then she cries, for she does not mean to harm, and her tears fall upon our land,

light powder that blankets the soil and provides insulation for the grizzly as he
rests with a sigh in the shelter of his cave…

Autumn, Summer, and Spring look on from behind the glassy dark marble of Winter’s
Night jealously, as the bare branches stretch their fingers skywards, on the off
chance they may touch her smooth cool hands.

Birds are content, quiet, to listen to her sounds, sitting atop the trees’ fingertips,

looking up at her round shining face, beaming down at them, and the trees…

the wolf rests on a hill of her white powdery tears, turns his amber eyes to her
ebony ones, and howls in relief; he is no longer lonely.

No, she is not a cold, not a wrathful goddess

She cries, and does not realize how she is loved; for she does not signify death,

only the ending of a story, and the beginning of a new one,

a slate of sins, wiped clean for the start of the new year.

We offer this hymn to you, oh Winter, as the barren branches offer their hands

in comfort to your sadness. Should you listen to our honoring praise,

believe our words to be true.