On this longest night, beneath the moon’s glow,
We gather our materials, row upon row.
The hush of winter, the still of the air,
Guides hands to create, with love and care.
The basket takes form, a circle of grace,
Binding together both time and space.
The solstice whispers of endings and starts,
Of woven dreams and mended hearts.
By hearth’s warm fire, shadows sway,
Echoing the bonds we weave each day.
A weaving kinship, a sacred thread,
Through shared creations, we’re gently led.
Together we gather, the old and the new,
A circle of weavers, tried and true.
Teaching, learning, with hearts full of cheer,
We strengthen our ties as the solstice draws near.
Oh, Solstice night, your darkness deep,
Awakens light we vow to keep.
In every basket, a promise we weave,
To cherish the gifts this night will leave.
So let us honor this craft we share,
A woven community, beyond compare.
For in the weave, we find our way,
To brighter nights and lengthening days.
Happy Weaving,
Lorelea
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