These days around the winter solstice, when the sun hangs low on the horizon, and the eastern slopes of the mountains are illuminated by a silvery-gold light of the setting sun, invite reflection. The low arc of the sun and the interplay of light and shadow seem to slow time, allowing us to pause and notice the rhythm of the natural world.
While visiting a friend in Concord, Massachusetts, this past Saturday on the winter solstice, I came across Newbery award-winning author Susan Cooper's poem turned illustrated children's book, "The Shortest Day," on display in the Concord Free Library. The evocative illustrations transported me to the experience of our earliest ancestors during these "shortest days" in our yearly journey around the sun.
"So the Shortest Day came and the year died / And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world / Came people singing, dancing, / To drive the dark away."
Communities across ages have come together during the winter months, even during the most trying of times. In an interview with NPR's Scott Simon, Cooper recalled her own experience as a child in England during World War II as the Nazi bombers took advantage of the long dark nights to carry out their campaigns. Susan's mother read by candlelight in their air raid shelter, and Susan watched as the flame trembled as bombs fell nearby. This story is a reminder that light has always served as a powerful symbol of hope.
Later that afternoon in Concord, seeking refuge from the bitter cold of the afternoon, we found ourselves in a café. Watching people hurry past the frost-edged windows while cradling our hot coffee and tea, the contrast was striking – outside, people hurried past while inside the café hummed with conversation and the whistle of the espresso machine, a reminder of how instinctively we create havens of light and warmth during the darkest season.
That evening, our friend's brother prepared an impromptu dinner. The simple rituals of the meal preparation became a celebration of winter and friendship – lighting candles on the table, laying out placemats, filling water glasses, and setting the salad on the sideboard. As we gathered around the table, the sound of the wood stove crackling in the background, I was reminded of the Scandinavian embrace of winter termed hygge in Danish or koselig in Norwegian – the sense of coziness and connection that transforms winter's darkness into something to be enjoyed rather than endured. Many embrace what researchers call a "positive wintertime mindset."
During the three weeks of December before winter break, we witnessed how our community began to become accustomed to the unique rhythm of the winter term. Students, faculty, and staff created moments of connection – with prospective families during our December Open House, in the rinks and field house as we gathered to cheer on our hockey and basketball teams, and as we watched masterful performances at Open Mic and of our community chorus during their night of caroling. As we take time to rest and recharge over the next two weeks, we remember that community isn't something we can take for granted – it requires tending, like a flame kept alive during the dark evenings of December.
The winter solstice, of course, marks more than just the shortest day of the year – it represents a turning point, a moment when darkness begins its slow retreat. As Cooper writes, "And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake / They shouted, reveling.” When we return in January, we must continue to reach out to those who are in need of connection – students, colleagues, friends, and neighbors -- and show kindness through small actions. Let us allow ourselves to linger over a meal or in conversation with each other, resisting the temptation to move on quickly to the next thing on our schedule.
Across faiths and traditions, the heart of this season lies in renewing bonds with friends and family and gathering together to create pockets of warmth and light. Tomorrow, the sun will set a minute later than today. It's a small change, barely perceptible, but it carries with it promise and hope. We embrace these winter days, finding ways to connect and appreciate the beauty of New England in the winter.
In the final lines of her poem, Cooper captures both the promise of lengthening days and the enduring human longing for peace.
"As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And so do we, here, now,
This year and every year."
May this holiday season be one in which you find moments to pause, connect with others, and discover the quiet beauty that winter brings.
Happy Holidays from all of us at Proctor!
- Campus
- Community and Relationships