Happy Solstice!

Tomorrow, very slowly, the days will begin to grow longer, at least for the first half of the year. Temperatures will begin to increase on a schedule that lags behind the day length. The Minnesota Weather Guide calendar notes we reach our normal daily low high temperature (23℉) in mid-January and begin to see an increase in average daily highs the last week of that month. So, for some of us, there’s that to look forward to after the holiday season.

I’ve noticed that, since I’ve been paying more attention to the details of seasonal changes, and not just the broad brush awareness of which of the four general seasons we’re in, I’ve been more inclined to take in stride inclement weather and seasonal abnormalities. This morning I went off through the snow to get gas for the snow blower. I’m of the opinion that risking an insufficient fuel supply to clear the drive after the snowfall stops is an invitation to have record-setting snow amounts befall us. It’s a variant of the old saying “the best defense is a good offense.”

tomorrow our sun starts creeping northward

Photo by J. Harrington

Meanwhile, the Better Half has either taken pity on me or become fed up with my complaints about winter being worse than usual, perhaps both, because I got an early Christmas present, a bulb garden of paperwhites, tulips and others that will help bring early signs of spring to our windowsill in 5 to 6 weeks. That may be a little after the amaryllis bloom. We failed to give those bulbs their cool, dark treatment on a timely basis this year.

Birds are piling in to the feeder as the snow falls. It’s fun to watch them and makes me happy that I can do more than fluff my feathers to stay warm in this bitter cold. There’s been a flurry of present wrapping going on inside the house. That’s slowly winding down. My assessment of last week, that we were very, very likely to be assured of a white Christmas is turning out to be an understatement. Nevertheless, may we all find that next season, and the ones after that, are better and more enjoyable than the preceding one.

Winter Solstice

Ray McNiece 

Late December grinds on down.
The sky stops, slate on slate,
scatters a cold light of snow
across a field of brittle weeds.

Each boot step cracks a stalk.
The pigments have been dragged
earthwards and clasped. The groundhog
curls among the roots curling.

Towards home I peel blossoms
of frozen mud from my pant legs
and pull off burrs that waited
for wind or the flashing red fox.

In my jacket pocket I find
a beechnut, slightly cracked
open, somehow fallen there,
and, enfolded inside of it,

a spider that unclenches
yellow in my steaming palm –
a spider that is 
the sun.

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