Winter Womb

I am gifted a purple bulb

Sheathed like an onion

To take into my Winter ritual

of deep rest, to digest my growth

Ponder my presence, my purpose

in the non-doing

My kitchen window sill is my altar

Where natural pauses & frequent visits

Elevate my attention on sacred slow

My witnessing of weather

Micro shifts of season, shifts of me

When Winter reminds me again

of my Womb—

Where Darkness incubates

Where non-doing grows something

unsaid, unplanned, unknowable

with deep presence & purpose

The light is returning now

Yet in a moment of stillness in kitchen

I feel held tightly by the big dark

As if the Solstice is my quickening—

My entry to movement while tucked in

like the naked bulb just this week placed on the altar, already sipping water through new roots,

Growing silently

Through many layers deep

Growing something

My voice could not speak

My mind could not plan

My eyes could not see

Yet my body in the quickening is

Singing, rooting, insighting

The gifts of the Darkness

Waiting for the delivery date

Sometime in early Spring

While here on my kitchen altar

The gift of the purple bulb

Sheathed, rooted, tucked in

Already delivers

Already opens me to possibilities

Blessed be Winter’s potentiality