Solstice

It came upon a midnight clear . . . actually it arrived around 1:30 a.m. -- a full lunar eclipse on the winter solstice. Now I'm not up on my druid lore, but that's got to be some kind of triple-witching hour. Local pagans celebrated with drum circles. And I thought of a couple of summers ago, when Darlyn, Meschelle and I were at Stonehenge on the eve of the summer solstice.

Regardless of your creed, there is something powerful about a solstice, especially the winter solstice, the longest night of the year -- standing astride the midnight meridian, staring up into the honest eye of the moon, you feel closer to God, and somehow empowered to ask him anything. This time, I didn't. I just tilted my head back and watched as the lid of the earth's shadow, dropped like an eyelid, until all that was left was a white tip and the moon eye became a buckeye. And then even that was gone, and the moon slept. A silent night, indeed.

I watched through the improbable December blossoms of my flowering peach tree, and whispered two words -- to God, and to Darlyn, whom I knew at that moment was at her home across town, bundled and sapping the heat from her cocoa, staring up at the same night sky, 25 miles away: "Thank you."

Peace to you all.