There’s something about the year’s equinoxes and solstices that I’m so drawn to. I like how they mark the way the world moves, how the earth and the sun keep dancing around, almost like people, sometimes close together, sometimes far apart. As I live in a place with four distinct seasons (though some of you would definitely laugh at our summers!), it’s nice to mark how they change. The winter solstice feels especially important. We have polar nights here, which means that from December 2nd until January 10th, the sun is too far below the horizon to see it at all — and those dates only apply to particular places in the city, so many houses won’t see the sun for even longer. But the winter solstice is a logical, emotional reassurance that the season has turned and the sun will come back.
The other day I had to go through some old blog posts of mine. It was both endearing and awkward to see myself call readers “darling” and “kitten” (I always was a sucker for endearments), post outfit photos, and recommend everything from skin care to books to life philosophy without hesitation. I remember being that Maria. She was sweet, and young, and fond of pink. Most of all, reading those old posts I realized how much I miss blogs. Not just my own, but the whole world of them. With the notable exception of sewing blogs, which is still a thing, there aren’t many left anymore. It’s all videos now or, if we’re lucky, a longish Instagram caption. My still virus-addled brain is thankful for videos, but… I miss the words.