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Solstice

From this high point the cycle starts again

Little by little the sun will drift away

Until the darkness and the cold

Win out against the brightness of the day

But through all the cycles of the year

Your love is constant, like the ebbing seas

Which seem impervious to the length of days

Moved by a higher force than storm or breeze

And while we vacillate, emotions tossed

By every fashion, every casual word,

Your silence speaks eternity

Wherever it is heard.

Brian Hick June 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 22.5.26

 1466

Solstice; though clouds now hide the sun

Dawn winds rumbling through Gillsman's Wood

Muffle the chorus which has just begun.

Solstice

And I've decided, as I knew I must,

To move away from deadlines, to run

The race that raises me from out the dust

To fly unhindered until they are gone

The hypoctrites, the cynics, the unjust,

Who dare come between me and the One,

Solstice,

Brian Hick June 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 20.5.26

 1463

Two weeks to the Solstice

Bright skies and a brisk breeze

Ease us into summer.

My seventieth

Though I don't recall

Most of them;

But memory is fickle

And the few

Outweigh the many

Passed unmarked.

Solstice.

Fulcrum of the year

Tipping point between

Firle Beacon in the heat

Tumbling waves

Fledglings and plump lambs

Before a winding down

Towards the hug of autumn.

Iona and Lindisfarne

Both knew the truth

That seasons hold more sway

Than artificial festivals of saints

And chalk cut figures

Standing stones and hills

Are simpler links

Than any urban shrine.

Seventy years sing out a simple truth.

You speak to me in what you have created

And smile when I've insisted I know better

Hinting that your ways are overrated.

Atop the Beacon or striding the Drove Way

Your love shines on me - like the sun today.

Brian Hick summer 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 13.5.26

 1274

My birthday's eve, bright sunlight and clear skies,

A morning shopping for the plastic cups,

Bowls and crisps and nuts.  No need for pies

On days like this as  spring time gently ups

The anti towards next weeks Jack-in-the-Green,

And the release of summer, though he must die

That crops might rise, birds mate and the lean

Winter months be just a memory.

How different from that day of endless grief

When you walked out to face a vile death,

Spat upon, derided, in belief

That what you did had meaning, and the Breath

Of Life, which freely fills my soul today,

Died in you, so I won't have to pay.

Brian Hick 29.4.13

©Sally Hick 30.4.25

 1353

The yew tree stands next to the Saxon chapel

Older than memory, its bifurcated spine

Propped and roped to protect its fragile life.

The yew tree stands

And so when the long Man's cutters grappled

With chalk or made their way in line

Along the cursus, with skin drum and bone fife,

To celebrate the solstice, as the knife

At sunrise cut across the downs to shine

Continuance to a valley, damp and dappled.

The yew tree stands.

Brian Hick March 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 14.4.25

 1229

Solstice

Winter bleeds the colour from the fields

And autumn's warmth is lost beneath the roots

Of trees that shiver as bare branches yield

Their starkness to the lingering frost, which shoots

Ice-laden needles over frozen ground

Penetrating deep to the Earth's soul

Which waits, in expectation of the sound

Of Herne the Hunter's distant midnight call

To wake, refuse the torpor of the night,

Sense beneath the mud and broken furrow

The seedling and the rootlet as they fight

Towards the lengthening sun which comes tomorrow.

            Our Solstice fire will rage against the dark

            To bring new life from one eternal spark.

Brian Hick December 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 12.12.24

 1088

A week from Solstice

And at four o'clock the sky,

Though grey, is still light.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 9.1.24

 1080

Solstice Toast

Spirit of earth and sea

            Of air and fire;

Spirit of life to us

          All we desire.

Thanks for this bright Solstice glow

Thanks for this our Solstice meal

Thanks for seasons as they flow

Thanks for love to bind and heal.

Solstice & Wassail!

All Solstice and Wassail

Brian Hick December 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 4.1.24

 Winter Walk

The winter morning's mist dampens our way

And shuts off all the view across the heath.

A solitary tree atop a ridge

Startles, its charcoal pencilled lines

Etched across a water-colour blur

As we drift away from Battle Hill.

Claggy footpaths topped with rotting oak

And birch, slow us down, giving time

To contemplate the days that lie ahead;

Solstice celebrations with a clutch

Of children and grand-children, all enthused

At simply being together for a change.

            By afternoon the sun is bright and clear

            And promises a safe end to our year.

Brian Hick December 2009

©copyright S Hick 2021

 Christmas Eve

So, Brother Fox, where are you tonight?

While we indoors suffuse a Christmas glow

Outside dark rain has washed away the snow

And shrivelled up the dulling winter light.

It cleared away your markers place with care

Each evening when you pass this way to take

Our offerings cast out in the wake

Of more extravagance than you could bare.

            And as I turn down just one more mince pie

            Idling with a glass of Cote de Rhone

            I wonder if you've found the Turkey bone

            I put out earlier hoping I might spy

            Your fleeting visit like a welcome ghost

            Bringing a Solstice blessing to the host,

Brian Hick December 2009

©copyright S Hick December 2021

Waiting

Mid December and all the trees are bare

But fields are lush with damp unfrosted grass.

The wind may have ripped off the last few leaves

But on the ground the warmth and wet amass

Abundant winter fodder for the sheep

Who stand in sleepy huddles, unaware

Of sodden churchyards, or the children's swings

Abandoned to the crows as they prepare

For winter and the coming of the dark.

Above, the starlings circle and display

Before they disappear behind the copse

Draining off the last dregs of the day;

            Yes I am happy, knowing what is to come

            Our Solstice Fire and the returning Sun,

Brian Hick December 2009

©copyright S Hick December 2021 

 

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The yew tree stands next to the Saxon chapel

Older than memory, its bifurcated spine

Propped and roped to protect its fragile life.

The yew tree stands

And did so when the Long Man’s cutters grappled

With the chalk or made their way in line

Along the cursus, with skin drum and bone fife,

To celebrate the solstice, as the knife

At sunrise cut across the downs to shine

Continuance to a valley, damp and dappled.

The yew tree stands.

 

Brian Hick

©copyright 2021 S Hick