Since Thanksgiving, I've been counting the days until the solstice, that is, until we start to go back into the light. For several months each year, I go to work in the dark and come home in the dark. My mood hovers on a ledge over a deep ravine. When the moon is new, and blustery winds bring slant storms, I knuckle the steering wheel as my aging eyes try to make out white lines on the road. Lights, dotted along the road, cheer me through darkness and rain, the simple grub of this season on the Olympic Peninsula. Then, just as I arrive at the clinic, these lit trees greet me.
After Tuesday, it will reverse and I will sigh a modicum of relief, another year opens the window and welcomes the light. I can still drive, so I can still work. No guarantees for next year, but it appears that I'm willing to hold on.
My reading recommendation for Christmas: The Road to Emmaus, by Spencer Reece. It redeemed the season for me. Read the title poem. Buy the book, with its cover photo by Thomas Sayers Ellis. It's a gem. Trust me on this one.