December 22

The midday temperatures are in the mid 20’s, under mostly sunny skies as I find myself in Alma’s Conservation Park sitting on one of the benches in the Eyer Learning Circle to take in the sights and sounds of nature. Nearby, I stop by the bird feeders where I spot a Chickadee and a Titmouse. On this first day of astronomical winter (solstice), I head west on a familiar trail knowing the sun is only about 23 degrees above the horizon. With sun at my back, I note my shadow is the longest it will be for the year. Nearby, in the snow, I see where a squirrel has been searching for buried nuts, a reminder of movement in a season that seems lifeless. Scanning the woodland, I observe the Oaks and Maples stand bare, their dark branches crisscrossing against a pale sky. Turning north, I reach the high bank of the Pine River millpond where I notice it’s completely iced over. River ice can give the comforting illusion of protection, a white lid sealing the water beneath. In winter, frozen surfaces quiet the current and hide what flows below, but they do nothing to stop pollution. Nutrients, salts, and industrial contaminants continue moving under the ice. Ice may slow surface exchange with the air, yet it cannot filter chemicals or cleanse sediment. When spring arrives, melting ice releases what was hidden, often concentrating pollutants downstream. The frozen river reminds me that nature’s coverings conceal damage but do not repair it. Turning east, I spot a few Oak leaves on the snow. Wildlife announce themselves subtly. A Pileated Woodpecker fills the air with loud taps, and somewhere deeper in the woods a Crow calls. Following a trail to the south, I find the delicate pattern of vole tracks disappearing beneath a fallen log, and farther on, the unmistakable heart-shaped print of a white-tailed deer. Animals, like the plants, are conserving energy, living inward, yet they are unmistakably present. As afternoon wanes, the light takes on a blue-gray quality unique to winter. The sun dips lower, setting the snow to faintly glow while shadows stretch long and slow. This is the hinge of the year, the day when darkness reaches its fullest measure and, almost imperceptibly, begins to loosen its hold. Walking back toward the car, I’m grateful to have taken in the light and warmth of the sun despite its brevity. The solstice offers a clear-eyed acceptance of cycles, of endurance and promises.

You had barely left

When redwings arrived

My memory faded

When cattails thrived

Forgot about you

When summer came

Autumn commenced

Still the same

You finally showed

O heavenly sphere

Winter solstice

Glad you’re here

 

D. DeGraaf