From inside our cozy warm house, the kind of night that you get to hear the wind blow through the stove pipe.  Something that I read and couldn't pass up. 

an excerpt, Nina Simons, from Moonrise: "The Power of Women Leading from the Heart."

This is no time for small talk
This is a time for myth making
This is a time for epic poetry
This is a time to tell the tales of life, love, and resilience 
that will become our compass for the days ahead.
A time to remember the grace and celebrate the magic
that infuses and informs this world.
We live on the only planet where an eclipse is possible.
Doesn't that seem like instructions to you?
To awaken from this self-induced slumber, to emerge from this 
     contracted isolation,
we've got to drink down the darkness and dive to our deepest 
    fathoms.
Peel off our fancy garments of presumed protection,
to land at the bottom, naked, cold, and bruised, with nowhere 
   to go but up.
Time we shed the venom that got us here, the twisted rage of
   blame and shame,
And choose instead the anger that rises, pure and clean, up through our feet,
That draws us to our full height, knowing what must be done,
clear about what has to stop, igniting us to stand for what we 
    love.
How else can we begin the healing?
The web that holds our world together is tattered,
And all our hopes and dreams are suspended in it.
No sutures, butterfly closures, or Elmer's glue can fix it.
Only our tears can begin to mend its torn strands, 
tears and giving ourselves to feeling, loving, and losing.
Mourning how much is dying, mourning so that the light can return.
The revolution must have dancing; women know this.
The music will light our hearts with fire,
the stories will bathe our dreams in honey and fill our bellies with stars.