Solstice

On the year's shortest day, the city thaws. I peel off layers of clothes, and the tables outside the  restaurant on the corner are full. She wears a Christmas dress but her legs are bare; we are all confused by the season. Waiting for the elevator, their hallway has that musty, warm scent like the Franklin Street apartment in Brooklyn, and for a moment, the promise of New York washed over me anew. Do you remember that time, when you were so new to the city, you asked if I feared the coming of winter darkness, and I said "Not since coming here". I meant it then, it is years ago now, but I mean it just as much still. Sunset was slow and warm tonight, the red brick buildings on fire around seventh avenue.

I've been tired, so tired lately. I neglect my friendships, my to-do lists, my inner workings as I race to pick up hours and fasten my foothold on these streets. But winter hit its rock bottom today, it is all lighter every day from now on.

I decide the same will hold true for myself.