Here in Alberta, at 53.5444° N, the sun rose at 8:50 am. I am typing this at quarter to 5 and it is dark. The sun set half an hour ago. For those who don’t wish to do the math this close to Christmas, there was about 7.5 hours of daylight. Where I live, you cannot but notice the pull and push of the seasons.
I have mixed feelings about this day. It’s the anniversary of Gabriel’s funeral. It’s a dark day in memory and in fact. The two are so tied up in my mind I cannot untangle them.
Today is the start of winter, but in truth, from here on in, the days will get longer. Slowly. It is actually the start of spring. It is hard to believe, in the dark and the cold and the snow that spring will come back. On the 21st of June, when there are 18 hours of daylight, it will be hard to remember the dark and the cold.
I am told, by credible sources, that the key to resilience, at least in part, is the memory of how you overcame in the past. It is nothing more than remembering spring, in the middle of the longest and darkest night.
Betwixt and between, lonely and confused, I cannot tell you that I believe in spring. I cannot remember the feeling of warmth or the smell of growing things. What I remember is a sort of mantra. The longest night is the start of spring.