Today marks the beginning of Winter, dreaded by many but embraced by some, like me.  There is something about the long nights and the quiet and the way the sun looks through the bare trees that I love.  I love burrowing into my home, I might have mentioned that.  I particularly love the solstice when it falls on a weekend.

Today is that day between the holidays when people are bustling to get things done or share the things they’ve already done.  It’s anticipatory and celebratory and just a bit arduous.  So today I put the fruit cake in the oven knowing full well that I’ve got over an hour to myself.  It’s an overcast day but not too cold, just bracing enough for a brisk walk…with a camera.

There is something about the sky in winter that I love, silhouetted with a back drop of sun…sometimes for just a minute.  I’m not opposed to the dark, as a matter of fact I’m pretty sure that everyplace I’ve ever lived could be considered an “evening” home.  Evening homes tend to be dark and lend themselves to wonderful lighting with lamps and candles and softness.  Clark Strand wrote a wonderful piece about the solstice and the dark in Friday’s New York Times that I found very interesting.   “Tomorrow is the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. But few of us will turn off the lights long enough to notice. There’s no getting away from the light.”  Interesting take on why we need the winter solstice

So my fruit cakes are done, oh stop rolling your eyes there’s bourbon involved, the cookies are also done and packaged and ready for wrapping.  I am going to pour a glass of red and light a fire.  I’m also going to do a bit of a fire releasing ceremony, writing down those things that I want to release, for my own damn good, and throwing them into the flames.  A pretty good start to watch all those negative thoughts go up in smoke.

If you’re interested in the winter solstice everything you should know blah blah, look here.

Since I won’t be back in touch until after Christmas I leave you this:

Reflections On a Scottish Christmas by Johnny Cunningham

The dark of winter wraps around us tight.

The lamps are fired, and flickering light beats time to the fiddle as notes float softly down, like the years’ first snow.

While outside the window a blast of late December wind whistles harmony to the drone of the pipes.

We push the old year back against the wall so we can dance a jig for Christmas and welcome in the new