We rose in the darkness, to greet the new sun. but it did not rise. Still we waited, for it is the tradition, after the longest night of the year, to celebrate the turning of solstice. Our days grow longer now, our nights shorter. The sky turned slowly grey, and I insisted we wait on a crack of sunbeam. But the sun stayed masked the whole morning. Our celebration was bewildered. I was the last one to give up and go, cold, back inside. When we found its outline upon the sky it was past the noon hour and even then, it was only a faint shadow of it’s possibility, dull as the early-risen moon which prints like a thumb in the morning sky. Perhaps I have come to expect too much, and I should let the sun take its time to wake, groggy after the long night.

The solstice marked, infused, defined our rest this season. We are waking from it, sleepy eyed.

I am preparing to go back to the university next week. And I hope to keep both the anticipation and the soft rest of this break with me as I venture forth.