The Longest Night: Winter Solstice thoughts

It's also my birthday/repost

Hello, friends, and welcome, new subscribers! My ADHD brain is a bit scattered and prone to change things, but here in The Purple Vale you can count on reflections on folklore, fairy tales, and the seasons from my little corner of East Tennessee, the unceded land of Cherokee and Muskogee people.

I’m resharing this post from last year. Now, or at least on December 22nd, I’m thrilled to be embarking on the last year of my 30’s! How exciting! I feel as though this year holds so much promise for me personally, even with the state of the world being what it is. And in this, the darkest part of the year, I am holding on to that sense of promise with tenacity.

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Photo by Rob Wicks on Unsplash

Today, I turn 38 years old.

My birthday falls on the day after Winter Solstice, and it always finds me in a contemplative state of mind.

I love this solstice. We have January and February ahead, so for many of us in the Northern Hemisphere it feels as though winter is just beginning. But in terms of light and dark, we have reached the turning point. Little by little, the light grows from here. Days lengthen and the long nights slowly creep back. Themes of death and rebirth abound during this time of year. For someone born with the umbilical chord around her neck, it seems very apropos.

I won’t write too much about my birthday; I shared some thoughts on Instagram last year. I am still processing what it means to be neurospicy and dealing with C-PTSD while raising four ND kids.

I’d like to share a flash fiction I wrote a few years ago that makes me think of the Winter Solstice. Think of it as the last Folklore Friday of 2023 (next month, I’m going to share some fun stuff about this feature for 2024!).

This little story was originally published in a tiny collection of flash fiction that I may republish at some point. Rather than explain it, it can speak for itself. I hope you enjoy it.

Photo by Mark Basarab on Unsplash

The Longest Night

How long had it been, this wandering? The darkness clung to her like sticky ink, pulling at her feet and hands and heart. She didn’t remember the sound of voices, or the feel of sunlight on her skin, or how to form words. But from far away came a feeling, distant and also somehow deep in her bones. It was the vibration of a sound. She followed it, by choice or not she wasn’t sure, for she had forgotten curiosity.

No, it wasn’t just a sound. It was a voice. Someone was calling to her, and she had to answer.

A sudden pinpoint of light stabbed her eyes. How could she go on? To leave darkness, would it kill her? Yet her way had always been forward. She wasn’t wandering, but tracing an invisible track, following the call of the voice. The inky darkness pushed her on.

The light grew and pierced not just her eyes, but her head and her throat. The darkness would not relent. The voice seemed to swell and surround her. She screwed her eyes shut and burst into warmth and light.

The voice was her own. She had called herself out of the long night, and her throat was raw with it.

“Oriana!”

This was not her voice speaking her name, not her arms enfolding her. The face of her beloved greeted her hungry gaze. When she took his arms relief shuddered through his body. He wiped the tears spilling down her cheeks with cold, tender hands.

“I’m here,” she said. “You waited for me, and I’m back.”