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I hold the sun in my hands
Jun. 21st, 2007 01:48 pmI held the sun in my hands.
Last Yule, we held our annual overnight, where we celebrated the height of the darkness and the coming of the light. We took water, flour, and salt and created tiny beasts and symbols and plants. These we crowded on our kitchen table all around an origami crib. Nestled in this crib was the even tinier sun, a small ball of salt dough, colored yellow and red and orange. The sun was with us, a pinprick of light in the long dark.
Today I'm holding the sun in my hands again.
It's much bigger, but somehow lighter and less solid. This new sun is made of paper mache, born of flour and water and newspaper strips. It is covered in ripped squares of tissue paper in the colors red and orange and yellow. Soon I'll fill it with bright colored candies. It's a pinata, you see, meant to be carved open. It's the egg of the sun, the height of the light, filled with darkness. We will break it, like any other egg, and let out what is inside.
Today is the longest day. I can look back across the year to the longest night. I can remember the darkness, the need to sleep, the jokes, the songs. I can remember the bread and the dark sweet cookies. I can remember the cold and the snow and the wind. And I can see in my mind's eye the tiny ball of salt dough that for a little while was the sun-come-down-to-earth.
Today is the longest day. When Pat comes home from work, we'll head out, driving to meet our friends in grove. We'll stop at a rest stop by the Delaware and watch the sun melt below the horizon line. We'll be as far west as you can be and still be in Jersey. The sun will set, the egg will break, and the darkness will come again.
Last Yule, we held our annual overnight, where we celebrated the height of the darkness and the coming of the light. We took water, flour, and salt and created tiny beasts and symbols and plants. These we crowded on our kitchen table all around an origami crib. Nestled in this crib was the even tinier sun, a small ball of salt dough, colored yellow and red and orange. The sun was with us, a pinprick of light in the long dark.
Today I'm holding the sun in my hands again.
It's much bigger, but somehow lighter and less solid. This new sun is made of paper mache, born of flour and water and newspaper strips. It is covered in ripped squares of tissue paper in the colors red and orange and yellow. Soon I'll fill it with bright colored candies. It's a pinata, you see, meant to be carved open. It's the egg of the sun, the height of the light, filled with darkness. We will break it, like any other egg, and let out what is inside.
Today is the longest day. I can look back across the year to the longest night. I can remember the darkness, the need to sleep, the jokes, the songs. I can remember the bread and the dark sweet cookies. I can remember the cold and the snow and the wind. And I can see in my mind's eye the tiny ball of salt dough that for a little while was the sun-come-down-to-earth.
Today is the longest day. When Pat comes home from work, we'll head out, driving to meet our friends in grove. We'll stop at a rest stop by the Delaware and watch the sun melt below the horizon line. We'll be as far west as you can be and still be in Jersey. The sun will set, the egg will break, and the darkness will come again.
