That time of year

December 19, 2010 § 1 Comment

Christmas is the worst time of year for me, as it is for many people. Whether we’ve lost loved ones through bereavement, estrangement, addictions, conflict – events beyond our control – all the forced jollity, simplistic moralising, saccharine emotive sentiments – they’re a little too much to take.


As always, I plan on hiding away with books and music. So – a little Emily Dickinson, to lay it all out in her supremely elegant way.


After great pain, a formal feeling comes –

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –

The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,

And Yesterday, or Centuries before?


The Feet, mechanical , go round –

Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –

A Wooden way

Regardless grown,

A Quartz contentment, like a stone –


This is the Hour of Lead –

Remembered, if outlived,

As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –

First – Chill – the Stupor – then the letting go –


Solstice is easier to think about – and the waiting for Spring. For anyone else who struggles with this time of year – courage.


I’m counting down till the sun comes back. And, with thanks to James Wright, the knowledge that, with the end of winter, so comes the return of this ecstatic state.


Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom


§ One Response to That time of year

  • Bree says:

    Nicely put.

    I couldn’t drag myself out to a possible view of the eclipse last night… winter. Ah well, here I am again, enjoying the view, beside myself.

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