We’re almost at the winter solstice.
With a lot of blustery, mild, cloudy and rainy weather recently the short days have seemed pretty dark.
Although I’m glad for practical, driving, and getting to work reasons that we’re not enjoying classical (stereotypical) Christmas card weather, it does mean you’re more aware of the dark.
And, when you get a chink of it – more aware of the light.
Which is, of course, the beauty and the conundrum of the solstice 😉
It’s a day, a turning point, a festival for some, that can carry lots of different meaning.
(If you dig and delve on the web you’ll find lots of different ways of marking it and talking about it, some wilder than others.)
I remembered when I was walking earlier that the day had once been a turning point for me.
Ten years ago on the evening of the solstice, I started to journal.
I titled the journal, without really knowing why, a journal of darkness and light.
I started it with a commitment to writing it all, to noticing it all, to being willing to journal the darkness as well as the light.
It seems a little strange looking back on that commitment now, where it came from, and all the places it took me.
But I think I’ve stayed true to that commitment, even if the journal now comes out as a blog 😉
Since then I’ve started taking photographs too, day after day after day, and one of the greatest gifts this practice has given me is learning to notice the light.
At this time of year the sun has dipped behind the hill behind my house.
I need to walk along the road to see it, and even then only for a brief few hours during the day. Watching out for these brief moments of light, you start to notice where the sun falls and rises, inch by inch along the horizon.
Telling the time by watching the landscape, just as those who went before us did.
Watching the darkness, and the light.