December

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Who better to describe the cold beauty and introspection of December than a ninth century Irish monk, who shares this column with me today. Slainte’.  May the hounds run with you and protect you .

 

I have news for you

I have news for you:
The stag bells, winter snows, summer has gone
Wind high and cold, the sun low, short its course
The sea running high.
Deep red the bracken; its shape is lost;
The wild goose has raised its accustomed cry,
cold has seized the birds’ wings;
season of ice, this is my news.
Anonymous

 

 

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About elainereardon

Poet, writer, gardener, small sculptures—communing with Spirits of the Forest and Field, bumping into magic, peeking around new corners.
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