turning

 

this day two years ago, i was in tears. sobbing, briefly.
then, sunglasses firmly in place, letter written, i set out to walk.
insides knotted, my cramped soul in pain.
the sun was sitting golden, overhead, and a bit to the right.
i tried to head towards food, pupusas and ibuprofen.
but sometimes, the body knows best.
so i followed the sun. “keep on turning towards the sun”

my feet crossed the street.
keep turning towards the sun.
led down the path.
keep turning towards the sun.

as a plane flying itself, i felt compelled to
follow the forked trail into the light.
face turned upwards, i walked,
vitamin rays slowly seeping into my pores.

as i turned, i realized i was close.
close to a friend.
before my thumb hit send,
i heard my name, this voice not in my head.
and there she stood, angel unaware.

sitting under the tree in her backyard,
she fed me tea and chocolate.
sitting there, I wrote, fingers cold but functional,
and suddenly, it dawned on me:
it was the shortest day.
the darkest day of the year.

as the sun shone bright,
it led me to safe places,
to hospitality and a cup of kindness, still.
on the day, which should have been the worst,
there was still the gift of light.
of tree trunks, of friendship, of life.

and on that day,
there was the promise of more,
of brighter days to come.

but first, more darkness,
nothing happens right away.
i didn’t know then, how long the darkness would stay.
didn’t know that would be my
last bright day.

as my tears dried, they went underground,
a hidden spring for my parched soul.
nourishing what needed to grow,
like a seed buried,
planted deep below.

on the surface, all seemed cold and frozen; numb.
silence descended as flurries fell,
the quiet chill lingering long
after winter succumbed
spring’s embrace.

these things take time,
as any gardener will know.
seeds planted follow their own course,
in their time, alone,
they grow.

if i’d known in that moment,
how long the dark would last.
how deep my spirit could yet retreat,
how silent and still
the path.

if i’d known, as I sat there sipping tea,
i may not have felt that hope
or courage yet.
but on that day, i soaked it in,
stood and drained my cup.

feet still moving,
life still coursing through my veins,
i set out walking towards the light.
humming: “if we make it through december,
we’ll be fine

… everything’s gonna be alright I know”
not now, not yet, but someday soon.
so we keep walking, hoping,
and turning still towards the sun.
trusting it’s coming back.

(it did. it always does.)

 

>>> tonight, light a candle. take a moment to walk in the darkness, welcome the coming of the Light

thank you for the light.

for the sun that still rises. 

for the promise of longer days. 

thank you for friends who are near, 

for angels that appear, 

and patient gardeners. 

on this long night, 

whether we feel 

sad or frustrated, 

hopeful or happy, 

may we trust that new life is growing,

even if it’s underground for a while longer.

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