In these northern latitudes, the light is sparse and winter bares its white and weathered fist against the fastnesses of night. We decorate the darkness, cannot stand its plain finality. Daub it with tinsel dress it in baubles, switch on season’s greetings in the streets. Perhaps God is dead; perhaps the shortest day will dwindle into black. The brilliant gift-wrapped sacrifice is not far away now. Pause a while. Let your eyes become accustomed to these dark skies; perhaps they hold the light of a billion stars. Judi Sutherland first published in "Acumen" magazine in 2012
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