the shimmering impact of snow
falling from the trees
tells me this silence
is rarely broken
by footsteps

some days, i seek silence
by turning off the phone
and watching one candle burn

as the wick curls,
i remember what matters —
the crackling ice
in the woods at night
and the one word
that turns the lock,
the one word
that stops them in their tracks

because i know Skadhi,
i know how to refuse
to do what is expected,
i know how to stand my ground
when it is needed,
i know how to keep on going
through the falling snow
and breathing the intoxicating cold

in silence is the place we grow

[Ranka Ulfsvin has been writing poetry for many years, but this is her first time publishing a poem in a pagan or heathen publication. She lives in the Midwest, spends a lot of time outdoors, and is very interested in creative, do-it-yourself problem-solving. In her free time, she does both paid and unpaid advocacy, outreach and community organizing.]