Thus the shortest day for me is certainly on the 21st of
December—because my parish lies in the Northern Hemisphere. Parish is the root
of that word, parochial, from late Latin parochia,
a parish, dated to 600 A.D., thus with Christendom having learned to walk. But
even back then—reassuringly in this age of excessive change—this day was also
the shortest. Some things remain reliably the same, and clinging to
certainties, I rarely fail to note this day, parochially, because in the
regions below (another parochial designation) the Equator, today is the Summer
Solstice. And that’s something my viscera can’t quite believe. The night
tomorrow will be just as short, subjectively, as tonight, but there is the knowledge, anyway, that light will grow
until June 21st of 2015—when another period of mourning will begin. Right now
we celebrate the Light’s Return.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.