Such a strange December here on the southern coast. Days as grey as winter with a wind that bites like ice. Get over the mountains and it’s the blazing Aussie summer sun and bushfires burning out of control. Here, though, La Nina rules the weather. Cronus however, seems to be sleeping on the job. Time is as fluid as it has been all year – rushing sometimes then stuck, for weeks, barely moving.
Late yesterday while pulling the garbage bin out to the kerb the wind hit me as I turned down the unpaved track beside the house. Across the road I saw a lone man walking a small dog across the football oval – just as, whenever I’ve looked that way all year, there’s been some solitary figure walking a dog, kicking a ball or, more often than you’d expect, standing stock still as if rendered immobile by the shock of it all. Pulling the bin past the puddles from another day of rain I wonder, yet again, just which month is this?
Every evening now, a curious absence – an emptiness hanging, pervasive and persistent, as if something more is ending that just this interminable year. I’ve heard it said this is the shift of the ages. The Piscean Age is dying. Jupiter and Saturn aligning at 0 degrees Aquarius at the solstice implies some kind of new beginning.
waiting in the interstices,
my old maps – useless.
Prompt: https://earthweal.com/2020/12/07/earthweal-weekly-challenge-advent-for-earth/ “For this week’s challenge, go into whatever mood the Advent season inspires in you and write a poem of it.”