The longest day of the year
The first day of winter usually feels like a promise of spring and that I am on the upward swing of daylight, warmth and sunshine.
This 22nd will only signify an ending of sorts. And also a brutal and cruel and senseless and confusing and unnecessary and bleak and terrible and black beginning. A beginning of anniversaries of remembrance for those tragically left behind and repose for those that are no longer living.
I am thinking of all the days of the year that I can remember that signify loss. My list is too long and I do not wish to share this memory. But it is mine and I will hold it although it feels hot and sharp and scary like a candle I have to carry by the flame pinched between my two fingers and held out at arms length.