Once upon a time, as I was looking to reclaim spirituality that Christianity had obscured or obliterated, I tried to do more celebrating of solstices and equinoxes. I do confess that the winter solstice has more appeal, that idea that we'll be getting more light with each passing day.
And here we are, at the apex of that light. From here on until December, we will lose a bit of light each day. Thirty seconds here, a minute there--most of us won't notice, until the day we drive in at the exact same time and think about how the light has changed.
Next week, my spouse starts a teaching schedule where he'll have class each night. I have vague ideas of how to spend that time--I could go for a walk instead of having a glass of wine. I could have salad for dinner--or no dinner at all. Maybe I'll write more or read more.
Here's my concrete idea. I've been feeling that I may be at the point where I'm done with my activists at 50 who are working at the for-profit arts school. I still have a story or two to write, but I'd like to put together what I have to see if I have enough for a collection. I'd like to read through the stories to make sure I'm not just repeating.
I've been thinking about writing a different kind of story, one that captures a voice, but doesn't have a traditional story arc. I've been thinking about the school as being haunted, haunted by all the people who once were there but no longer are. I've been thinking about a more short-form story.
Herein lies my problem: I think I might be done, and then I have more ideas.
I have one of those windows about to open, and I want to seize this time to write more, whatever the writing might be.