For the most part the shortest day of the year seems to go mostly unnoticed or nothing more than a simulacrum for the modern revival of ancient and forgotten practices.
I lit candles in the window, and ate a meager feast at my dining room table with my faithful dog by my side.
The fireplace lit by gas is without ash to bless my garden.
In the morning I stared sleepily at the light burgeoning over the mountains in the East juxtaposed to the Christmas lights strewn through an evergreen. They both burned very different shades of yellow in the early morning mists.
I will cut my hair as I do for the equinoxes and solstices. My wise Aunt says this help it grow long.
Beyond that, the magic seems forgotten.
Garlic was early this year. There was gossip of bumper crops planted before the last gardens should be put in.
We were dry in the rainforest.
Whispering was heard that this would affect farmers and fishers and food for us,
But people really did not notice the prices; they do not eat in season.
I remember when produce came and went.
No longer is there a lull with greenhouses and airplanes;
My banana earns more Airmiles than I ever will.
Depending on my mood, life is long and very very short
Life is the equinox and the solstice, taken for granted,
Autonomized rather than reverently ritualized.
Today there will be more moments of light than before.
It is Winter and I will be in awe when Spring stretches from a long sleep and verdant fingers curl cusping the earth again.
Why does this surprise me so? I worry the Seasons will forget me as so many of us have forgotten them.
Maybe I shall order seed catalogues for next year. The seeds are a promise.
The dirt outside no longer feels like mine.
I am hoarding a bucket of it on my counter. I wished the worms in it good morning and made it rain with water sprinkled from my fingertips.
I don’t want to play God.
I am a dirt worshipper finding miracles in the mundane.
No longer in need of my Sunday best,
I meet Three on grass stained knees digging deep searching for my roots.
I found more worms in the straw. I carefully gather them up.
The Heavens open and wished me good morning making it rain with water sprinkled from God’s fingertips.
Each drop brings me closer to my Maker.