You look over all that the darkness
ripples across. More than has ever
been found comforts you. You open your
eyes in a vault that unlocks as fast
and as far as your thought can run.
A great snug wall goes around everything,
has always been there, will always
remain. It is a good world to be
lost in. It comforts you. It is
(From: “Waking at 3 a.m.,” by William Stafford, in Someday, Maybe, 1973)
I have a habit of awakening before dawn, a time when the house is blessed by quiet, interrupted only briefly by the sound of the coffee grinder and the rattle of kibble against my dog’s dish. We position ourselves, she and I, in the front room, blinds opened, to watch as the sky begins to lighten, blushing pink as the sun rises. This is precious time, a chance to write uninterrupted, and then, as the neighborhood begins to come to life, to walk before the streets are noisy with cars. I cherish the winter mornings most, the subtle beauty of darkness shifting into dawn, and the cool mornings even though I live in a place where the advent of winter is barely discernible compared to other places I once called “home.”
Our window overlooks one of San Diego many canyons, and despite that it’s December, the colors of the hillsides changes little in this dry landscape. The slopes remain a dull green, dotted by succulents, silk oaks, eucalyptus and palm trees. Our bird of paradise plants and the Bougainvillea are in bloom. My husband loves the mild climate, but my thoughts, each December, drift to times when the seasons were more distinct, autumn colors and the soft cascade of a first snow. Yet winter still announces her arrival, but it is in the change of light, the dark mornings. The angle of the sun has shifted, soon to be at its lowest arc in the sky. The Northern Hemisphere’s winter solstice occurs on December 21st, when the sun reaches its farthest southward point, and we experience the shortest day and longest night of the year.
The advent of winter solstice signals not only a change in light and seasons, but a time of celebrations, no matter our religious heritage or beliefs. The winter solstice was a time our ancestors associated with death and rebirth. As the days grew shorter and the sun began to sink lower into the sky, they feared the sun would completely disappear, leaving them to endure an existence of permanent cold and darkness. Imagine the primitive fear that accompanied those dark winter mornings, a feeling echoed in the first stanza of “Winter Solstice,” a poem by Jody Aliesan.
When you startle awake in the dark morning
heart pounding breathing fast
sitting bolt upright staring into
dark whirlpool black hole
feeling its suction…
The solstice was considered a turning point. It marked the gradual return of the sun and promise of warmer seasons. Even though winter was far from over, the solstice a time of celebration, usually taking place a few days later, the time many of us will celebrate the Christmas and Hanukkah holidays.
Aleisan’s poem echoes that same sense of promise the ancients associated with the solstice, something I experience in the darkness of winter mornings. She reminds us of the comfort to be found in the beauty of darkness: stars close together, winter moon rising, or an owl in the distance, and how, out of the darkness, a sense of rebirth emerges.
already light is returning pairs of wings
lift softly off your eyelids one by one
each feathered edge clearer between you
and the pearl veil of day…
(From: Grief Sweat, Broken Moon Press, 1990)
This week, why not use the metaphor of winter, of solstice, to reframe your experience with cancer or another difficult time in your life, a time when hope seemed to fade and you feared little more than darkness.
- Did your experience a kind of “death” and rebirth?
- Move from darkness into light?
- Discover a sense of life renewed?
Or, like me, perhaps you find comfort in the quiet of dark mornings. Try describing something you love about dark winter mornings in a short poem.
It’s comforting to look up from this roof
and feel that, while all changes, nothing’s lost,
to recollect that in antiquity the winter solstice fell in Capricorn
and that, in the Orion Nebula,
from swirling gas, new stars are being born.
“Toward the Winter Solstice” by Timothy Steele, from Toward the Winter Solstice. © Swallow Press, 2005.