Today is the shortest day of the year, at least for those of us in the northern part of our beautiful planet.
Light has pulled back, retreated defensively, waiting for a chance to tentatively return and from hereon forward, each evening will gift us with approximately 2 minutes 8 seconds extra daylight.
There will be cold to come; icy days when it is easy to slide and fall.
There will be storms to face; days when panes of glass between us and the wild winds seem hopelessly insufficient.
There will be bone soaking dampness; the sort that makes it impossible to imagine that mud might become soil again.
There will be false starts: days when it seems as if spring has finally come, only to be snatched away again.
Despite all of this, each and every day, we are gifted 2 minutes and 8 seconds of light.
Let it feed your souls my friends.
Let it filter in.
The arc swings low
The day drains away
Across the steel grey sky
How deep is the sump
For before each breath
Lungs must be fully emptied
Swell the chest and say farewell
To the shortest day