Mother's Night

"The Tradition" by Julia Jeffrey

On Winter Solstice Eve, the longest night,

I sit in stillness, the air heavy with remembrance,

the stars cold and unblinking, ancient witnesses

to a tradition older than words.

This is Mother’s Night,

a time to honor the line unbroken,

a thread spun from womb to womb,

generation to generation,

carrying the songs, the stories, the whispers

of those who came before me.

I light my candles against the dark,

each flame is a memory, a name,

a testament to the lives that birthed mine.

Grandmothers I never knew,

the mothers who held them close,

my daughters who carry the promise forward.

Earth herself seems to pause,

her breath low, her heartbeat slow,

waiting for the first hint of dawn.

And in that waiting, I listen

to the voices of my motherline,

to the wisdom passed through hands

that sowed, healed, and created.

The sun will soon rise, silent, glorious,

the light's golden promise

etched into the horizon,

its fiery warmth a covenant renewed.

I will greet this rising not as a stranger,

but as kin to the holy cycles,

as a wild daughter of the turning wheel.

On this sacred night, I stand rooted

in the legacy of my bloodsong,

one hand reaching back,

one hand reaching forward,

anchored in deep knowing

that the light always comes back.

(Mother's Night by Cairelle Perilloux)