I live where the winter season can stretch well beyond the calendar date for spring’s arrival. Wind, rain and cold have already forced us into our winter coats, thick neck scarves and knitted toques adorning our heads. Increasingly, the temperature does not invite stepping outdoors to run errands in the neighborhood or walk the dog.   The light has changed, as has the angle of the sun. Days are shorter; nights are longer. In these winter mornings, I awaken to darkness, and a chilly bedroom does not inspire me to rise as early as I typically do. But I fight the temptation to stay buried under my duvet, knowing that the winter months will be long, the temperatures even colder. But there is comfort in dark mornings, too, rising well ahead of my husband, tiptoeing into the quiet and peacefulness, and, for an hour or so, embracing my solitude, a time for writing and reflection. Despite the increasing grayness of skies, I am sometimes greeted by the sun rising above Lake Ontario in the distance, the dawn a palette of brilliant gold and rose, a gift of Mother Nature before the sun disappears behind the curtain of grey cloud.

 I cherish these dark mornings, unlike my ancestors of long ago. Darkness was not comforting for them. As days grew shorter and winter approached, they feared the sinking sun would completely disappear, forcing them into permanent darkness and unending cold. The first stanza of the poem “Winter Solstice” by Jody Aliesan touches on that primitive fear of winter’s darkness.

When you startle awake in the dark morning
heart pounding, breathing fast
sitting bolt upright, staring into
dark whirlpool black hole
feeling its suction…

Thursday, December 21, marks the longest day and the fewest hours of sunlight in the Northern Hemisphere. Our ancestors associated death and rebirth with the winter solstice. And even though winter continued for many weeks, the solstice was a time for celebration because it signaled warmer seasons to come. 

According to anthropologists, many cultures celebrate the Winter Solstice, going back 30,00 years. Stonehenge may be one of the most familiar to us, where even today, people dress as the ancient Druids and pagans to celebrate the arrival of the winter solstice. But there are other customs in many different cultures, for example, the “Yalda” festival in Iran, the ancient Romans’ Saturnalia festival, or the Scandinavian “Juul,” celebrated with the burning of Yule logs, which symbolize the returning sun and warmth. Even our Christmas and Hanukkah celebrations have been influenced by the ancient rituals tied to the winter solstice. In his poem “Toward the Winter Solstice,” Timothy Steele acknowledges the many different cultural celebrations passed down to the modern day:

…Though a potpourri

Of Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Jews, and Sikhs,

We all are conscious of the time of year;

We all enjoy its colorful displays

And keep some festival that mitigates

The dwindling warmth and compass of the days…

It’s comforting to look up from this roof

And feel that, while all changes, nothing’s lost,

To recollect that in antiquity

The winter solstice fell in Capricorn

And that, in the Orion Nebula,

From swirling gas, new stars are being born.

(From:  Toward the Winter Solstice, 2006)

The Winter Solstice may feel cold and strangely foreboding as the nights lengthen, and the sun is less prominent, but it is a time which also promises rebirth. It offers us a sense of hope even though the year is ending. Perhaps the “death” of the previous year sparks memories of past celebrations too, of people who have been part of our lives, family traditions passed on year after year, and of gratitude and hope.     It is a time not only to celebrate but to look forward to the hopes we have for the year ahead. And in our troubled world, there are many hopes among us all.

For now, though, I treasure the gifts I find in the beauty of winter’s darkness: a winter moon rising, the dawn of a winter’s morning, the solitude and time for reflection.   Like my ancient ancestors, I sense the promise of rebirth, beautifully captured in poet Jody Aliesan’s “Winter Solstice”:

already, light is returning pairs of wings
lift softly off your eyelids one by one
each feathered edge clearer between you
and the pearl veil of day

you have nothing to do but live.

(From:  From: Grief Sweat, Broken Moon Press, 1990)

As the winter solstice approaches, take time to remember nature’s life cycle: birth, death and rebirth. It is humankind’s cycle, too, woven into our holiday celebrations and repeated in times of darkness or struggle. It is a time of moving into light and healing, whether from illness, loss, pain or suffering. The symbolism in the winter solstice gives us a rich metaphor to think about the human cycle of life, health and illness, aging, loss and love, or times when hope may have faded, and we fear little but endless darkness.   It is good to remind ourselves that somehow, there is always rebirth, and in that recurring cycle, there is hope. You have nothing to do but live.  

Writing Suggestions:

• Using the metaphor of the winter solstice, write about your journey through a kind of “death” and rebirth, a journey of darkness into light, or discovering a sense of life renewed.
• Take Aliesan’s phrase, “You have nothing to do but live,” and use it to trigger your writing.
• Recall a memory of winter or the December holidays that stays with you. Write its story.