Solstice
Nights grow longer. The shortest day of solstice is a week away. The insipid sun will sink its lowest in the southern sky, barely lifting above the open notch at the end of the valley. I will watch it settle through the trees on the western ridge before two o'clock, its light scattered, cold and broken. And our dusk begins.
We are blessed with an abundance of clear creek water, unbreathed air and serenity here in this hollow. We do suffer a bit, though, from want of sun in the winter months. I feel it settle in--the pale, chronic anemia of a colorless season ahead.
How often I've walked our valley on the gaunt, gray days of January, longing for color as if it were a vital nutrient missing since October leaves. The barn's faded red roof and the vital green of algae on its north side stop me in my tracks. I remember the full pallette of color, the full warm sun.
To everything there is a season.
Comments
The lack of light is one of the reasons for all the festivals and celebrations this time of year. Remember they MOVED the birth of Jesus to its familiar place in the calendar so that it could compete with other festivals of light and color marking the solstice and the rebirth of light. Come down to see the color of this year's Christmas creche. We've got a new Tibetan singing bowl, a beautiful Tibetan prayer painting, and a cute little prayer wheel. And candles, and colors. Ya'll come! (You, too, Trey. You aren't that far.)
Posted by: trish | December 13, 2004 6:44 AM