I love the Winter Solstice. Few celebrations fill me with as much as quiet hope, as much unvarnished joy as the longest night of the year. Sure, it is a day paupered of light but it is also the moment when the sun begins its return. Every day after, we get another minute, and then another, until we’re again in a golden dream of summer and everything feels possible.
Oh, gosh, Cass! This is so lovely, and SO LOVING.
Also, re: the hope-dawning Winter Solstice, and the melancholy Summer Solstice, I HEAR YOU!
Also, yes, that panic of pre-pregrieving… “White-Queening,” Delia once calls it. I do a lot. Not just for the big griefs, either.