Winter Solstice. Through the window, the skies are reluctant to wake, a feeling we know all too well. Nagged by the ticking of our internal clocks, we coax our bodies into coats, step out into all of it, scuttle pathways to work. During the lunch hour, if we’re lucky enough to lift our eyes from our phones, we notice the sky is blue and bright, as though the sun knows it only has so much time. After work, and the show is over, blanket of dark over everything, quieting some part of each of us.
This is it, the longest night. Everything led us here, fiery sunsets of July gradually giving way to modest midday surrender. The sun and the moon, constantly in chase of each other overhead, have unsteadied the dance. The moon pirouettes, reveling in the hard-won opportunity to revel, the sun a faraway spotlight. And here we wait, searching the sky for stars while we hold our breath.