Sunday was one of the hardest days of the year for me.
It was the day of the autumn time change, that day when darkness suddenly falls so early.
Already at 1:20 pm, the light had started its slow fade.
My neighbor, the one who makes the homemade chocolate chip cookies to hand out every Halloween, told me once that the summer solstice is the saddest day of the year for her, because it’s when the days start to shorten. And winter solstice, in December? That’s her favorite day.
I think my saddest day was Sunday, the day after the time change. On that day, the dark descends. I can no longer ignore the truth that summer is actually gone, even though the weather has continued to be so warm. There will be no more walking with my neighbor at 5 pm, or 6 pm, 7 pm. No more early evening runs. Sunset tonight is at 5:01 pm. And it just gets earlier and earlier (worse and worse), until we hit that magical day in December when the light starts to come back.
I know the light will return in December.
I am also hoping that some light will return tomorrow, Election Day here in the States. I think that many of us (probably most readers of this blog) are a bit anxious about how all of that will go. There are hopeful signs, no? The polls have been leaning our way. So many people are voting! But we all remember four years ago. And now we also have to contend with rallies and trucks with their “Keep America Great!” flags honking at us as we drive our Priuses in the slow lane up the highway.
I trust the good Apostle Paul and Julian of Norwich and their comforting words that all things work together for good, that “all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
All the things will be well.
Everything is going to be OK.
Fr. Richard Rohr reminds me that death is part of universal pattern of transformation. That it’s death transformed, not death avoided, that is the universal spiritual pattern.
The dark has to come, the light has to leave, and then the dark will leave, and the light will return. Back and forth, forth and back. An endless dance, and through it, I am always seen and held. Summer is not gone forever. And right now, this moment? The sun is still shining.
I’m going out to plant the last of my “hope in a pot” plants that I got at the nursery sale last week. Everything was 50 percent off. The plants look a little tired, sort of like me these days. But I know they will perk up in the spring. A good drenching rain would surely help them, too. It will be dark soon, but it’s not dark yet.
4 Comments
I usually enjoy this time of year. Cool mornings, clear blue sky, red leaves, even the long evenings point to time to tuck in and settle down for the winter. Winters around here aren’t a hardship, they’re time for homemade soup. But this year the early darkness is annoying and it feels more like hunkering than tucking. I’m dismayed at how divided this country is. Baffled at how meanness seems to be winning right now. So I guess we go one day at a time, be kind, make soup.
I love autumn soups! And you make such a good point here. What are we to do? Just the next thing, I guess. I am also baffled by the meanness. That’s such a good way of putting it. “One day at a time (especially this week, no?), be kind, make soup.” Thanks Sally. Your comments are always so insightful.
That was great Robin. I love the hope for a new Spring!
Yes! It’s coming.