I watched the sun rise on this winter solstice, as it gently kissed the surface of the earth with a touch of bubblegum pink. In the quietness of the first moments of light I acknowledged just how long the nights have been. Yet, something peculiar has been happening. Although the days have been shortening outwardly, something entirely different has been occurring in my inner world.
And that feels like a miracle.
How beautiful to realize that this perpetual winter season of my soul has been met with a new hope in the dawn of the shortest day of the year. How curious that this desperately difficult year, after many more years of the same, consisted of me moving 766 km southward - culminating in sixty-seven more minutes of light today.
Right here on the shortest day I have access to more light.
And I feel every single minute.
By the time the calendar flips over to 2024, I will have gained ten more. Ten more glorious moments of daylight to lean into. But not before this shortest day. Not before the holding room of tomorrow, where not a minute yet is gained. Then it will yield. Sixty more seconds on the 23rd, sixty more on the 24th, three minutes on Christmas Day. And the days don’t extend beyond their twenty-four hours, the minutes just stretch themselves to make more space among these long nights. How glorious to enter into this unfolding as I tilt my own axis toward the Sun. Today, although the darkness is still favoured by time, I celebrate the Light within it.
And I need every single second.
What a beautiful piece, Erin!
Love how you broke this down! Ten more minutes by the new year - I can’t wait!