It’s December 1 and both neighborhood cul-de-sac and ocean just beyond the edge are dark. A few lights are beginning to illuminate windows here and there, but this most immediate, surrounding world is largely muffled and still this morning.
A friend has mailed me coffee from afar and I’ve saved its opening and taste for this long weekend. Today, I brewed it in the French press. Pulled from the trunk a hand-pottered mug purchased in Homer while on writing residency at Storyknife a few summers ago. It is both the dark and light, dirt earthy tones and golden light creeping in around the edges. I’ve added just a bit of the good Irish stuff to it to enjoy the morning, put a cap on a fine, holiday weekend, and bust through the poetry that needs writing. My to-write list is longer than my arm.
But it is December 1 and there’s much to look forward to. My college daughter and her traveling cat will soon be home in a couple of weeks and Solstice to be celebrated soon after. I thank the editors of The Bluebird Word for including my poem “Tilt” in today’s winter issue publication. It is timely and I’m enjoying all of the poems gathered here in this space, this welcome to winter and December’s return.
May the month ahead treat you gently.
Kersten Christianson, Poet 