In my neighborhood, Christmas lights and decorations appear within days of Thanksgiving. Next door, the light-bulb deer remain lit on the lawn all day. The house on the corner of our street looks like a Hallmark advertisement, wrapped in ribbon, evergreen swag and wreaths on every lit window. Next door to that house is my other favorite: the little red cape with the 1960s vintage decor – huge colored balls. The rest of us hang glittering lights purchased off the drugstore shelves – different garish rainbows of blinking colors. These flashes of brightness help to get us through the peak of winter solstice – the darkest days of December, refusing to succumb to the dark. I think we should leave them up through February.
While I always dread snow (the clean up and difficult driving) as I write there is a magical dusting going on – a meditative dance performance of flakes. Earlier, walking Tetley in the dark morning, the flakes seemed illuminated – nature’s beacons of light. Perhaps I can learn to embrace this aspect of winter – to twist a little yoga saying – and honor the light of winter.