Cold. Grey. Damp. Appropriate for midnight in the
natural year. All is quiet. Trees are still, birds are notably absent. It
should feel disturbing, but it doesn’t. The world is only asleep. Dreaming. We
are the things of forced activity and deliberate wakefulness, yet many of us –
despite the drive to motion – are somnambulant.
I don’t officially celebrate the solstice, but I am
aware. In some places and some cultures, December 21 marks the turning point,
the end of the old year and the start of a new. The rebirth of the annual cycle
begins. Candles are lit to ward off the dark. Wishes are made and the past is
released. My day passed as usual, but for a split-second hidden within the
blink of my eye, the world paused in its orbit, let go of the past, and
proceeded into the future.
The sun rose a bit earlier this morning.
Winter. *grumblegrumblegrumble*
ReplyDelete