At approximately 4:21 AM, we officially entered the realm of winter. Marking the shortest day of light and longest night of the year, from here on out our daylight time will elongate, gradually unfurling second by second, minute by minute, until we max out at the summer solstice. This is it – the bottom of the valley – and it feels very still, very dark, very quiet. Here is where we move in hushed tones and gentle whispers. Here is where we look up from the lowest levels of light, seeking out any pinprick or spark of illumination in the sky. Here, then, is winter.
Several years ago I made my peace with the season of slumber, embracing its elements and using its storms as opportunities to slow down and be mindful. That is once again the intent this year. Patience comes into prominence and importance here. I find it best to focus on the days as they come rather than be impatiently annoyed and antsy at the prospect of spring’s far-off arrival. Life should not be spent in waiting but in little actions that can be done in the moment.
While last summer began in frilly bombast (hello Coquette!) this winter begins in quiet and calm. Simply and grandly. Still waters, especially when covered in winter ice, churn with seismic shifts, making them more dangerous. Their danger is often in the unstoppable force of their immensity once set in motion. It renders the little things we may try to halt their movement relatively ineffective.
Within every shell of the promise of peace is a jagged bit of potential for the opposite. Without that kernel of knowledge, that possibility of contrast, peace might be entirely meaningless. And maybe it is. At this point, I just don’t know.
