and turn again
as the path winds
under high fog,

under turning oaks,
leaves so recently green,
now goldening,

some with edges
tinged brown or
or dark-splotched—

the dark is coming—
but on this first day
of advent, each step

leading to new life,
I stop, look up at
the turning,

release what wants
releasing, even if I
can’t name it,

let my feet take
me to the center,
receive what wants

receiving and look up
into the light, the tune
alive in my head:

this little light of mine,
I’m gonna let it shine,
let it shine, let it shine,

let it shine