Longest Night

The donkey’s watched closely as I piled up the wood we’ve been saving all year for our Winter Solstice fire. Fate stared at me expectantly, so every once in a while I told her to “get the sheep.”  When I was done Lulu nosed around pulling a branch out of the pile and nibbling on it.

Earlier, I strung the lights on the front and back porch.

I’m tired.  As much as I feel like I’ve come to a good place about the Holidays, they still pull at me emotionally.   Christmas has little meaning for me anymore, but celebrating the shortest day of the year, which then brings the return of light, makes sense to me.

It speaks of the cycles of life, the personal darkness and light all humans carry within us and my growing connection to the natural world.

Around 4:30 when the sun is tucked behind the hill we’ll light the fire and it will keep us warm as the daylight around us is absorbed by the night. To me, it seems a natural end to the year.   Out fire will be a whisper in the darkness. A personal acknowledgment and observance of the longest night.

The importance of this day grows stronger in me every year.  Not just in the symbolism, but in the natural rhythms that occur between my own body and the seasons.

I think I’d do better this time of year if I took it more seriously.