Happy Winter Solstice 2024

What might we mean, in saying days will gain
in light? Will we be glad when darkness wanes
by slow degrees? Is darkness some age-pain

afflicting us? Do we think joy remains
when day remains — just when dark night's intense
grip strengthens? Why then do we sing refrains

in chorus, at the Solstice? Night's immense
and starry dome seems holy — just because
cathedral-like it begs us to commence

our songs to carol out the year that was,
that is no more. To give this longest night
its proper due, before departing. Does

this night prompt all this joy? But then what might
we mean, in saying days will gain in light?

& a note . . .

Some years ago on this date, when walking up to the village post office, I encountered a man unknown to me. I said, "Happy Solstice!" He seemed a little surprised, but said, "Happy Solstice? I like that!" We went our ways; and if he did not repeat the greeting to someone else, I would have been and still would be surprised.

I make little fuss about the Solstice in winter. This morning, with Martha, I went about daily doings without any real intent to spread the good news. I did say the greeting three times — twice to Amish women who were checking us out at small food stores. The greeting seemed not to register. The second one apparently thought I was saying some variety of "Have a nice day," and replied along the lines, "Yes, and the sun is out, and that is good."

Shortly thereafter we stopped to put gasoline in our van, at the village grocery. Being checked out by a worker there whom we have known for many years, I said my Solstice greeting. When she looked puzzled, I said that the days would be getting longer from here on. "Well, that's good," she said.

I was pondering this lack of comprehension, in these three. At home, after I set the noon-meal stew on stovetop to warming, this poem arrived on the page. To some degree it seems to wonder about my own degree of comprehension.

Cheers . . .

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
So astoundingly full of hot air was he
his men believed he would grumptiously
rebound like a ball, in event of a fall.

Then he fell. He broke in thirty-four pieces.
And all Dumpty's horse shit and all Dumpty's men
piled all thirty-four on the wall again.
And all Dumpty's nephews and all Dumpty's nieces

sipped at the egg-drop soup he made
on the ground — and cheered! The rule of Dumpty
broke thirty-four others, in hiding some Humpty!
Psychophants plumped him; his asses all brayed.