We Sing the Sun

It is 1:33am. I am the only human awake in this house, though I hear the soft shuffling of the mice that live in one of the walls of our powder room. The ecstatic solstice drumming of years past has been replaced by my soft singing. Serving as midwife for the Sun need not entail waking my own slumbering babes or the husband-bear. It is a quiet, lonely vigil, but after the frenetic pace of the past couple days I welcome the peace (exhausted as I am).