The Loom of the Solstice Deep
At the high turning of the year, the Sun stands bright, intense, and clear, a golden fire at noonday height, pouring down its ancient light. The Solstice crowns the field and hill, while deep below, the earth is still. Beneath the ribs of root and stone, where silent hidden waters run, the great oak stretches, dark and wide, drawing the shadow to its side. To drink the Sun, to hold the light, it first must wed the deepest night. For every leaf that greets the dawn, a deeper, wilder root is drawn down through the soil of grief and bone, through all the places left unknown; the underworld of the hidden soul, where scattered fragments may be whole. No crown can bear the blazing sky, no branch can reach the heavens high, unless it learns what lies below, where secret, heavy waters flow. The soul still weaves its hidden thread between the living and the dead. We rise from earth, we rise from fear, through shadowed paths becoming clear. To touch the heavens, bright and high, we must not fear...
