The Long Dark
A beautiful poem. Please read the wisdom and thoughts of a Poet.
As we pass through the Winter Solstice, I think of pivots.
I wake in the dark, work in the dark, go to bed in the dark. This day is the darkest of the dark days of winter.
We’re not meant to spend too much time without light. Energy drains the longer the night stretches, the more we hear of that queer electrical hum that hits when the dark is thickest.
It’s easy, in tales and in light, to dwell endlessly in darkness. There’s beauty and mystery there as well as frustration and exhaustion. For those who wish to sit there endlessly, it is easy to point to the anemic half-light that hits for a few minutes somewhere between dawn and dusk.
“See,” they say. “There’s some light here. But what really matters is the darkness.”
I love the dark.
I also love the way it turns to day.
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