For the Winter Solstice

The days get shorter and I rejoice. Here is a vivid reminder that I am on a planet moving through the solar system, tilting and rotating, orbiting and spinning. Here is a daily count down to the changing of the season. Here is word association: hygge, fireside, comfort, home. When the weather dips below fifty, I come alive. Ah this is living; sweaters, cheeks made bright from the crisp air during a brisk walk, no mosquitoes.

Weeks ahead of it, I buy some candles so that I can celebrate the winter solstice with my own kind of ritual. A welcoming to winter and a nod to both the darkness as it reaches its longest stretch and to the light which will trade places with the dark and begin its own ascension to owning the day cycle.

This year, even more than usual, I’m relishing the advent of winter. I follow online sites for northern places; the Faroe Islands, Svalbard with its Polar Night, Greenland, and the Shetland Islands, and dream about the snow, cold, stark views, icebergs, fjords, and the magic of long winters. With wistful appreciation of the past, I recall my winters in the Wyoming wilderness and all the backcountry skiing I did, the deep snow, the packed snow, the falling snow, the below freezing air, and the landscapes that took my breath away.

Like a secret, I hold my plans for my Solstice celebration close to my vest as if I’m afraid of making too much of them or too little. I’m not quite sure which. I tell one friend and she, picking up on my excitement, says she might get her children together the Solstice evening to light a candle and dance around in a circle. For myself, I have the candles. That’s my sure thing. I’ll light them at 3:48 PM Central time on December 21^st when Earth’s axis is tilted its farthest away from the sun. A passing moment. A shifting of seasons. A thing to anticipate. My own secret. I’m nearly as excited for the Solstice as I am for Christmas. It’s the anticipation that makes it so sweet.

Several years ago, after spending the fall in Norway and then traveling on to Finland, Estonia, and Latvia where I drank mulled wine in Christmas squares and took selfies with Santa, I returned for a second time to Sweden to visit a friend before returning to the States for Christmas. Every year, Sweden has its Saint Lucia celebration on December 13th. A combination of Pagan and Christian rituals to call the light back to the world. That December 13th, my friend pulled up a video of one of the celebrations and we sat around his table and watched the girl dressed as Saint Lucia with the wreath of candles on her head and listened to the choir sing. My friend who lives for warmth and sun.

Då i vårt mörka hus, stiger med tända ljus,

Sankta Lucia, Sankta Lucia.

Although the Solstice happens on the 21st and not the 13th, I decide to incorporate the Swedish Saint Lucia celebration into my very simple Solstice ritual. I pull up a video and keep it handy for when it’s time.

The day of, I make a circle of aluminum foil and put it on a plate, a yellow-orange plate as a hat tip to the sun, and set my candles on it. Outside, the sun already dips low in the western sky.  

My dad, always up for a ritual, and mom, always up to participate, sit at the table with me. It’s a little too windy, a little too chilly to do this outdoors. I start the Saint Lucia celebration video and the music swells up from my phone. I give a match to each one of us and watch the clock as the minutes tick by and the second hand clicks around to 3:48.

On the top of the minute, we light our matches and light the candles.

Night walks with a heavy step round yard and hearth,

As the sun departs from earth, shadows are brooding.

There in our dark house, walking with lit candles,

Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!

When the video celebration has sung its last note, we get up. I leave the candles to burn down. I leave them to go out on their own. That seems the right thing to do.

Near 9:00 PM, they are still burning. Wax, in colored pools, fills in the flowered shape of the aluminum foil, nothing left of the candles but these burning wicks. I blow them out. Smoke swirls. Sulfur, tar, wood, and wax mix into a coiling scent evoking memories of heat, warmth, friendship, and light. The wicks smolder orange; pulsing, hot. One light goes out. Another one shines.

Winter is here!

 

 

 

 

 

Sankta Lucia song lyrcis found here: https://lyricstranslate.com/en/sankta-lucia-santa-lucia.html