There are few things more glorious than a puddle of winter sunlight. On many afternoons I have gone from being active and productive to melting into soft butter in one of them. This particular form of sunlight feels different — nourishing, soft, warm. The skin, hungry from the lack of sunshine, rejoices in winter light’s life-giving warmth, soaking it up. The body knows, in its most deep, cellular wisdom, that sunlight and warmth are the sources of life.
The abundant summer sun’s bright, full, saturated light is, by comparison, overwhelming. From my winter vantage point, I try to recall what it feels like to seek relief from the sun pouring down with relentless intensity. I bring a shade screen to the beach. I sit under trees. I fail to grasp the importance of the light. Only when the water is scarce do we taste its sweetness.
Now, with the light streaming in low through cold clear air, I remember how deeply I crave its embrace. The winter sun’s zenith is only a few hands above the horizon. The dark of night seems dense and inhumane.
Finding what light there is becomes a constant pursuit. Like a hungry animal pursuing its prey, I chase little warm patches of light as I move across the landscape. I find the south side of the house and stand against the wall. I momentarily resent anyone who casts a shadow on me. I go up into the dunes to find a hollowed-out bowl in the sand that is sheltered from the wind and lie in the bottom of it: I am a starfish washed ashore, baking dry in the warmth of another faraway star.
At home, in the afternoons, I follow the wisdom of Mr. Fry. Cats know how to find the warm glow of the winter sun pouring in through a window.
We are not alone in this love of the light. In nearly all cultures, light is symbolic of the qualities we cherish most. Hope, perseverance, the triumph of good over evil, clarity, knowledge, love. We bask in the light of one another’s love. We seek the light at the end of tunnel. We describe intelligence as bright. Light is life itself on this blue and green marble.
We have arrived at that transformational moment when the first soft light of a longer day begins to dawn on the northern hemisphere of the Earth. On this day, the celestial sphere we live on reaches the apex of its northern wobble and begins to tilt its rotational center back toward the Sun.
For so much of our human story, this one moment has meant everything. It is a celestial story, and a cellular story. It is the story of our planet but also the story of our bones. And so, we light candles of hope and strength, hang lamps of every shape and color, burn fires, place stars on treetops, and sprinkle cookies with sparkling sugar.
