Midwinter in the Forest solstice rain rouses sleepy earth from winter dreams -- forest floor pores sodden, oozing droplets slipping into streams; stubbly sedge stretches lazily into hazy sky as mute sun filters through stirring sugar pines -- sparking shimmer in stunted shoots, singed by the death of winter; our wakening world lit in the glitter dazzle of a thousand silver sequins. Sit Silent Sit silent. Sneak between fleshy folds of this murky night and fasten your listening to the beat of your breath. Sit still with your broken confidence. As a wolf with a blistered paw, you rock him in your lap until he dozes and snores away his ills. Allow the death of silence to devour your devils; rip into their muscles with eager fangs, a grand demolition with teeth and jaws; lip-smacking gusto and grease at the corners of a glutted grin. Ravaged, your innards gouged out like a rotting squash, relieved of all that was not forged from your bones or blood. You rise, lock eyes with the pale light of a new moon.