Winter Solstice

remembering the cold and the dark

All those mornings at the bus stop on the corner, our frozen dragon breath pluming in front of us, my fingers clenched inside soggy mittens, the way my nostrils felt as though they too were made of ice, the way snowflakes dusted my eyelashes and hair, the beauty and terror of it all. How we knew it could go on for months, for far too long, while the glittering brightness would give way to gray and rust from the dirt those trucks threw down, while dogs peed yellow stains onto the snowbanks, and the slush made a misery of sidewalks, while I waited and waited for the sun to raise its weary head and bring a moment of warmth back into my bones, my heart, my dreams. I dreamed of a life in California, where I imagined I’d never feel cold again, yet here I am, on the darkest of nights and shortest of days, with aching knees and a worried heart, still waiting for sun.