When I opened the door and stepped outside this morning I didn’t expect the blast of chilled, moist air. A few flurries zagged in front of the truck’s headlights as it idled and warmed while I fed the horses.
It’s been dark later in the mornings and earlier in the evenings. Have you noticed? We’re at the zenith of long nights. Tonight is solstice, the longest night of the year and will occur technically at 11:30 p.m. here in Arkansas. It happens to the entire world at the same time, but our clocks all read different times, that’s all.
After tonight, the days will begin to incrementally get longer again. This is probably my favorite time of year. This is the origin of many of our holiday festivities. Wassail, Yule logs, Bonfires, Festival of Lights, the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ – it all hinges on hope. Hope that there will be a tomorrow. That the sun will rise again after this exceptionally long night. In the case of Jesus, hope for eternal life.
It might sound contradictory that I said this is my favorite time of year when only last week (and the many weeks prior when ‘Christmas’ crept into every commercial outlet) I complained about being a grinch.
It is not *Christmas* that I enjoy so much. I absolutely hate the commercialism of this time of year.
I love being ‘connected’ to the earth and I enjoy the marking of time’s passage. THAT is what I like about this time of year. It is the noting of the turning of the wheel of life, on my own personal scale all the way through to scales of something much larger than myself. And it doesn’t matter to me what name any particular religion decides to give it. This is still the season of Hope.
