Thoughts On The Shortest Day Of The Year

Since the longest day in summer, night has been reaching further and further into day as it makes itself longer and longer.

Until yesterday.

Now on the longest night of winter, day has it’s turn to reach further and further into night, making itself longer and longer.

Every year the same dance between day and night, light and dark, hope and despair. Lived out against a backdrop of clouds coming and going, leaves blooming and dying, the constellations rising and setting round and round the immobile star of the pole.

We grow and harvest our crops by this dance, set our clocks to it, measure the length of our lives with it. We are creatures of habit by design. Driven by cycles, some we know and some that remain hidden.

We stand at the center of turning cycles, concentric in design, ceaseless in motion. Some we dance with moment to moment, others turning so slowly that our time to dance will never arrive.

Big or small, fast or slow, known or hidden, these are the invisible gears that move our lives through time and space.

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