Saturday, 5 January 2019


Black and bitter cold this winter,
Orion rising due south, red eye
staring after long-gone dusk,
Mars setting under a billion stars.

Sun lies buried in earth, deep
underground with Saturn behind;
frost falls from an open sky, invisible
till it crusts the grass-stems, silent
till it crackles like the aurora hanging
to the north of everything.

So bleak, so cold, as this stone world
runs as close to the sun as it might,
closer than any time before
in the dead of the old year gone.

There is no advantage in heat or fire
from three million miles of difference
riding this near-perfect circle
between perihelion and aphelion;
nearest, farthest: it is
the planet’s tilted axis
throws seasons across
these hemispheres.

Dark or cold,
in light or heat:
a heaven of mercy
but no dominion
only patience
and the trust that
seasons turn.

© Brian Hill

It’s Cold Outside, but Earth Is at Its Closest Approach to the Sun

Quadrantid Meteors Kickoff a Busy January 2019

Brian Hill. 50 years a poet. One-time designer and film-maker; long ago, the rhyme-slinger, cartoon cowboy, and planetarium poet; now feverishly stringing words together in the hope of making sense.

Blogs as Scumdadio (don’t ask) at: