"The darkest evening of the year..."
I like to pause and reflect on the solstices, to try to open my mind to the changes they mark on the celestral calendar, which seems to me to be more in touch with nature than the calender hanging on my wall. To me, it's ironic that as the days begin to lengthen, the season becomes colder and winter takes hold of my world. The same is true in the summer, that just as the days reach their longest and begin to shorten, the weather grows warmer. I understand the logic of this in my head -- planetary orbits and tilts and all that science stuff, but in my heart, I think it's about hope and circles and where we are and where we're going and where we've been as we hurtle through space and time through the cosmos toward some destination, or maybe not.
Today is a quiet day in the midst of a bustling season. This morning, the morning after the longest night of the year, is the beginning of my holiday vacation. I took my camera and my dog and went for a walk, to refocus and open myself to this place while the sun rides as low over the tamaracks on the ridge above my house as it will ever get. I thought about where I was as a writer the last time the Earth had been in this position. I'd just published The Glass Man, The Rosebud, In Starlight, The Dragon and his Knight, and Ice. I was nervous about my reception in the publishing world. I was proud that I'd taken the risk to do it. I was appreciative of the support that my friends and family had given me.
This year, I've added Notice, My Boyfriend has a Scar, Origin, and The Dragon and the Mistletoe. I've become more comfortable with who I am in this crazy adventure called Publishing. I'm still being challenged, but my family and friends are sticking with me no matter what. I've made an amazing new friend who is quite comfortable splashing around in the water I'm so timidly testing. I want to keep growing as a writer, to make my words, and worlds, better, deeper, richer.
Yesterday's rain brought the brook up above the ice and set it free to run again, a last chance before the snow and cold settle in for good. I listened to the water until I walked out of its range and through a field where the colors and beauty are subtle shades now, where you have to look to find the brilliance of a berry or a leaf silhouetted against a pale blue, winter sky. A quiet cheep from a chickadee working a birch tree was the only sound.
Except for my thoughts.
Yes, this is a good place in the heavens to be.