The Winter Solstice
Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice; a marker for the passing seasons, a time of rebirth. In 2021 the solstice fell on December 21st, the day my twin granddaughters were born. It was the time of - ‘Becoming old, children born to children born to sing us into love,’ as Joy Harjo says in Becoming Seventy (I love this poem despite its length, there’s a whole lifetime here.)
Since that special day, I look for the solstice. I’m aware of it approaching.
I will most likely not be marking it by gathering mistletoe or sacrificing bulls, which is what the Druid priests did, but I will offer up a silent prayer of thanks for the days becoming longer, for the light, and for the love.
Here is a poem for winter days - it always reminds me of Patrick, my lovely dad, who was invariably first up in a cold house, who brought us tea in bed, and who polished our shoes on Sundays…
Those Winter Sundays - Robert Hayden
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
Thank you for being with me and sharing my writing life through 2023. I hope you have a peaceful Winter Solstice and a happy festive season - I’m having a break now but I’ll be back sometime in early January.
Avril x
P.S. My top tip for surviving the coming Xmas season apart from the obvious booze and cake, is steal some time - however small - for writing, painting, singing, gardening - for whatever creative thing it is that you love to do.