It is the quiet time.
Season of still.
Bugs are retiring to their rugs to keep snug from the chill,
You, too, seeking shelter under a blanket of leaves,
For a long winter’s nap,
To dream away your agonies,
Until the dark night subsides,
And the blistery frigidity retreats from this land.
Change is in the air.
Darkness and Light, churning and burning for centuries,
Now dancing together as One vitality.
For the power in each is the power in all.
In this most magnificent moment out of time.
The Great Turning is near.
Silent storms gasp their last breaths,
As we slumber through a final blindness,
The darkest hour.
On the edge of ready,
To wake up
Into a luminous dawning, promised for millennia,
Birth of the new Humanity.
Taking our rightful place as earth stewards, kind-hearted neighbors, sacred warriors for peace.
“And in that very moment, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed reckoning nothing of wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn.”
J.R.R. Tolkein