In the weeks between Thanksgiving and the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year which in 2025 fell on December 21, each day seems to begin with more reluctance. I eat breakfast before dawn, and the sun sinks behind the mountains by mid-afternoon.
November and December have been mild and mostly dry, and I spend the few hours of sunlight outside. While rambling the foothills, walking to the post office, or sweeping the back deck one more time (whether it needs it or not), being outside for even an hour leaves me content and relaxed.
I’m not alone; studies of seasonal affective disorder, or SAD, show that an hour spent in natural outdoor light, with or without full sun, can keep the winter blues at bay. For those who can’t get out, the internet is full of “happy lights” for sale, but I’d prefer to sit at a south-facing window and soak up the warmth as well as the light.
The bright stars of Ursa Major — the Big Dipper — shone through the colors, and the magic of that scene held us all in its wonder. When we finally went back inside, the music sounded better because of what we had seen.
The question remains, especially if you live alone: how to fill the hours of darkness on days when work, errands and other duties don’t help pass the time? I could open a book, turn on the radio, find some brain games, cook a meal, call a friend. Often I do all of these, but there is still leftover time, and a desire for something meaningful or creative. And what could be more meaningful at this time of year than practicing gratitude?
There are probably as many ways to express appreciation as there are people who do it. One year I challenged myself for a month to write a poem of gratitude every day. Most of the results were pretty lame, but it was fun to see how many ways I could approach the topic.
November. Cottonwoods spread
their naked limbs, creek waters
burble or lie still in shadows.
Slowly, delicately, the season closes
like a film of ice on a pond,
with a final week, or even two,
of blonde and buckskin grasses,
of red and rust and brass in naked stems
of rose hips and snowberries,
and finally, snowfall’s silence.
As I said, it’s not more than a rough draft. Most of my proto-poems from that month are ones I have never tried to revise. Something about their rawness asks to be left alone. Their importance lies in the act of having written them, of reminding myself of the beauty of each season and all I am thankful for.
This year, I’m making a daily list of three things for which I am grateful. Trying to find something new to write each day makes me think about the little things that bring joy but are often overlooked. So here a sample from November 12:
A fabulous aurora borealis this evening. During rehearsal for a Christmas concert, one of us got a text from her daughter, photos included, and she shouted out, “Northern Lights going off: right now!” We hustled out the door, most of us with cell phones for taking pictures. I didn’t have my phone but I didn’t need it to see a sky aglow with red and green. The bright stars of Ursa Major — the Big Dipper — shone through the colors, and the magic of that scene held us all in its wonder. When we finally went back inside, the music sounded better because of what we had seen.
Finally, as I write this, it has been five years since my husband was life-flighted to a regional hospital with a spinal infection. I had hoped he’d be home and healthy by Christmas, but as it turned out, he had only a couple of months left, all but the final few days in a hospital bed. Even during that time, I found things to be grateful for. Another excerpt from what I wrote then:
Along with grief comes gratitude: let me list some reasons.
I’m grateful for close to half a century with the same beloved spouse.
And for having the good sense to crawl into the narrow cot
the hospice people brought so I could sleep beside him one last time.
For the kindness of friends old and new,
who wrapped me in their care those first few weeks of sorrow.
For the food train that fed me for a month,
for those who brought dinners, lunches,
cheer and chocolate, and flowers —
so many flowers — the doorbell ringing daily.
Even a cake for my birthday when my mind was only on death.
For those who helped with little tasks, anticipating what I needed
before I knew myself, who simply did it, no need for me to ask.
For those who brought me into their homes for potlucks and holiday meals,
or those who called from far away, sent cards I will always treasure,
who stopped by to visit for a moment or an hour,
For air-hugs and real hugs and fond funny memories shared.
For those who offered prayers, for those whose eyes welled with mine,
For those who sat quietly as we breathed the same sad air.
Thank you for the words you shared about what he meant to you.
Thank you all for helping me say goodbye.
The light is still limited but the days are growing longer following yesterday’s winter solstice. Whether you are surrounded by family or alone during these long, dark nights, I wish everyone a bit of peace and respite. Maybe allow yourself to turn off the news and turn on a favorite piece of music. Maybe close your eyes and dwell for a time on a favorite place or memory. And most of all be glad for the gift of life that we all can so easily take for granted.
