Article voiceover
The weather is endlessly fascinating in its changes from the sputtering rain — the splat of fat drops on the windshield — to the frayed hem of cloud cover on the golden horizon as the days of December dwindle down to deepest darkness and the brisk quietness of the expectation of the snow. You find yourself walking along the river with your mother and your daughter’s dog pulling you along, leash taut and straining, because the weather changed from drizzling rain to solstice sun at the end of the shortest day, the stinging rays struggling across the earth’s curvature to reach your face and cut across your eyes, mercifully, a blade of light from its furthest point cutting the tumor of darkness from the weather of your soul.
Really like the imagery in this poem. The last 3 lines are chilling, but also show a glimmer of hope as we emerge from the shortest day of the year.
a blade of light from its furthest point
cutting the tumor of darkness
Made me catch my breath--wow.