Holidays / The Basics //

A walk through the blue hour is more of a stumbling along than a journey.
The days are short, shorter still and the long night extends a frigid hand.
I step along the hardened earth, as if it were stone.
Cold breath lashes the back of the neck and chills the soul.

It’s powerful, this season of deep love and aging hurt.
I’m not sure why I stepped out of the house at all.
Hugging my bones I whisper Solomon’s prayer,
wondering— what heaven cannot contain.

With a pass under the lintels, I come inside to light the candles,
to light the fire. To cast these walls with the glow of gold,
and beams of goodness.
What the earth cannot sustain.

I wait for the icy cold that wears me to melt away.
A whisper to hurry.
The fireplace is enough.
It warms the room, from flickering crackle to blazing roar,

coming again in glory.





About the Author

Heather is a freelance writer, Poetry Editor at The Burnside Writers Collective, and a sometime-illustrator. She has previously partnered with a Christian Publishing company in the creation of a vibrant children's ministry curriculum. She currently lives in northeastern North Carolina with her husband, David (affectionately known as Big Earl), and three sons who know how to keep them laughing. Most days you can find Heather hanging out at the local coffee house requesting foam art in her macchiato while scribbling down poetry, and wrestling with the mystery of faith, at