On the shortest day of the year I deliver what might be my shortest blog.
The solstice occurs when the sun is the greatest distance from the equator. Twice a year, this is the case. The other time, the day is much longer.
My soul hibernates now. It has crawled deep inside its shell, my body, to hide away from this harsh and bitter cold.
Today, marks the central point on the annum's road between brisk and unforgiving days to days that glow and draw us out of our caves, warm and inviting. It is not a matter of being half way to anywhere in particular, more like being perched atop a ferris wheel, mid-cycle. What goes up, must come down. We will be back again, one day soon.
Inside, I seek comfort, protection from the insolent chill. I create a cocoon of heated air and mohair throw rugs. I look out at the world from my coddle. Consolation of steaming coffee and hearty soup. My body is suspended somehow, weighted by skies that are the color of indifference.
I struggle against time's moment whenever the outside world beckons, and coat myself in an armor, unnecessary when the days are more reasonable, more relenting. Leather gloves, woolen socks, knee high boots. Scarf and jacket. Turtleneck. Grey and black. Black and grey. I walk to meet what feels like a wall of ice and the air cracks around me.
For now, I am frozen.
I trust that Spring will come eventually; to renew the barren and melt this season's punishment.
To bring about the green sprouts of fresh resolve.
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