Slumbertime, winter solstice, the sun stands still in Capricorn. This is the ecliptic crux when the earth tilts her belly to the sun. In the northern lands sunrise comes late and sunset comes early, and the day between is illuminated with long rays of cold silver light. Celestial coordinates and ancient holy days, this is the beginning of winter.

Winter is no old man this year; she winks her thick dark-lashed eyes, arranges her petticoats, and shakes ice crystals like diamonds from her black hat. She’s not calculating, but is cruel and frigid for all her austere beauty. Her cold sneer turned the remaining crimson leaves on the oaks into a shade paler than gold, and they fell as winterkill into the gutters.


Everything I own smells faintly of woodsmoke from oak logs.


They have a long road to travel, and I pray they have safe journey through the mountains. My parents are coming to visit. I have not seen them since summer; it has been too long.