it is Winter Solstice.

our northern hunk of earth has tilted itself out into the dark, and this blinding, meltingly sunny afternoon is a brief blip of light in bleak midwinter, a short flash punctuating what Frost called the darkest evening of the year.

that phrase has always given me a thrill. it has a majesty and seriousness about it, like a grave announcement made by a butler introducing dinner guests. it is beautiful, too…though in a way probably only known to children of the northern hemisphere. it brings me to the still point in the turning of the earth, and the crisp and eerie quiet of standing in a snowfall, mittens wet, cheeks stinging with cold. the phrase calls to something solitary in me that loves the starkness of winter, and longs to dig down deep and hibernate, as Frost’s woods fill up with snow above me like a blanket.

of course, last night, at 1 am and 2, and 2:20 and 3:30 and 5, because Oscar is teething again – like he NEEDS more teeth? – all the phrase called to was my bitter sense of irony, for i was indeed having one of the longest nights i’ve had since O was a newborn. poor wee one, eight months old today and seven teeth. and poor me! no blanket of snow, nor cotton, nor nothing…just bleariness. when do mommies hibernate?

Happy Solstice to all, and to all a good night. in the long dark of this one, i am hoping for some stillness.