Solstice

Every year, on the longest night of the year, we gather with friends to banish darkness.


A painted round pinata represents the darkness--we took turns striking it with a hatchet. Inside, was this gold orb, filled with money. We beat the shit out it, too. If you want to see a group of adults hit the floor as rowdy kids, this is the way to do it.

(Hey, times are hard out there. I collected enough Sacajawea dollars to put a gallon in my tank and throw a load of laundry on for good measure.)

We welcomed back the light. This involves fire, in the form of illegal fireworks, purchased by our hosts in Pennsylvania and smuggled into their Virginia backyard.


They're lucky they have cool neighbors.



Lulu spent a lot of time looking up--at twinkly lights arranged in constellations overhead, at streamers of fireworks, at faces of friends. At the smoky, empty expanse of flat, dark sky.

My parka still smells like a campfire burning with handfuls of sage.


We'll know, in the coming days and weeks, as the darkness abates by a few moments every day, as the days grow longer and the nights shorter, whether our efforts worked, whether we broke the banner of darkness and safely called back light and warmth for another year.


In the meantime, we'll revel in cold air on our cheeks, cold beers on our lips, and a light we can pass from friend to friend.