Lullaby

My little lack-of-light, my swaddled soul, December baby. Hush, for it is dark, and will grow darker still. We must embark directly. Bring an orange as the toll for Charon: he will be our gondolier. Upon the shore, the season pans for light, and solstice fish, their eyes gone milky white, come bearing riches for the dying year: solstitial kingdom. It is yours, the mime of branches and the drift of snow. With shaking hands, Persephone, the winter’s wife, will tender you a gift. Born in a time of darkness, you will learn the trick of making. You shall make your consolation all your life.