Grieving for the loss of light and heat.
In different places,
but in the same darkness,
and under the same new moon,
we dream of the ripening of the pale, full orb.
Some mutter her names,
white moon… trading moon… Sassafras moon…
Some whimper them in fear,
dark moon… snow moon… tree moon… fog moon…
Some cry them out in hope,
frosty moon… moon of storms… mourning moon… the moon when horns are broken off…
The promise of the month
so far, unwritten.
The tragedies portended,
or the dreams to be fulfilled.
And then,
we haul our furs tighter around us.
And huddling,
We wait.