Six years in Sweden taught me
the challenge of Winter Solstice.
Twenty grinding hours
of darkness per day
can slay the soul unless
you fill them with meaning.
I learned to celebrate the winter
with a blaze of candlelight
evenings of knitting by the fire
and the dizzying aroma
of fresh bread
turning golden in my oven.
I would marvel at each young girl
parading through the Jul market
balancing a crown of
fake candles on her head
reenacting the part of Santa Lucia
bringing light back into the world.
I close my eyes and remember
snow sparkling in moonlight
slow sips of spiced wine
tickling my tongue
and warming my insides
the soft crunch of just-baked
ginger cookies
munched after a night of caroling—
each a seasonal thing
marking a certain time of year.
We humans are geared
to respond to seasons
different dates on the calendar
different passages of our lives.
We resonate with
Solomon’s sentiment:
For everything there is a season
a time for every matter
under heaven.
There is one matter, though,
linking all our days:
In every season
our God is worthy
of our praise.
Ecclesiastes 3:1–8