The Shortest Day

Freud might say that I really did want to lose those two scarves. He might offer various reasons: one, I was terrified of using them to hang myself; two, I was afraid that I would, like Isadora Duncan, be decapitated when my trailing scarf got caught by a vehicle traveling in the opposite direction; or three, that the scarf reminded me of my mother’s brassiere which I saw hanging on the line out back when I was seven. Oh, well. Regardless, I’ve lost both scarves I purchased this almost winter—it’s not even winter yet!—and my neck is again exposed to the elements. And isn’t that a prescient statement?

Daisy Fay Buchanan complains that she always waits for the longest day of the year and then misses it. What she misses, of course, is day on which the most can be accomplished/appreciated because this day possesses the most hours of light. From that moment on, the days grow shorter and symbolically, opportunity less available. As the daylight lessens, so does our hope.

But during next week occurs the shortest day of the year—the winter solstice—and from that moment on, the potential for vision daily increases. Each day there is more sunlight than the day before, and more opportunity for sight!! I wonder if Daisy Fay would bemoan missing the shortest day of the year? Who does await the shortest day of the year?