Chrissa J Pedersen

Winter Solstice Part of my soul is sad at Solstice That part which craves the darkness And the mystery The flickering light of candles The creak of oaken pews Silence that holds a secret, and a Longing to touch the infinite

Beach Walking I’ve forgotten how, To walk on the beach. Finding that line Where the sand is firm, But not so hard it hurts my feet. Sand—fresh washed by the sea. “I agree,” I say to no one. Permanence is an illusion.