12/18/2025
Solstice Dreams
On the Longest Night When Raven Waits
Coyote laughs softly to himself—not the loud, trickster howl,
but the quiet grin of a teacher
who knows the dark is not an ending
but a mystery.
His footprints spiral the snow,
circles pretending to be mistakes.
He tips the world just enough
for wonder to spill out,
for rules to loosen their grip,
for magic to sneak home through the back door.
The Crow Girls follow,
bright-eyed and bold as you please,
their pockets full of questions
and feathers they don’t yet claim as their own.
They poke at the dark with curious beaks,
asking what if?
asking why not?
asking is this where the light hides when it rests?
Coyote winks.
Raven watches.
Raven, black as fertile soil,
patient as the turning stars,
waits at the edge of night
holding the memory of fire
in his throat.
He does not rush them.
He knows gifts ripen slowly,
like embers learning how to glow.
The Crow Girls ramble and laugh,
trip over shadows,
their dreams echos for answers—and still, the night keeps them.
Still, the dark teaches them
how to listen.
At last, Raven opens his wings.
Not to give,
but to remind.
The light has always been theirs—
hidden in curiosity,
tucked into missteps,
carried in the brave foolishness
of asking the dark to speak.
Coyote bows,
Crow Girls rise,
and the sun, hearing its name whispered,
turns back toward the world.
The longest night exhales.
A spark is found.
The wheel remembers how to move.
©Ivy C Mulligan
