Winter Solstice
And the urge to stay indoors
Today we have gained back a few seconds of daylight.1 From now until June, the days will get longer, but these first weeks (and even months) after the winter solstice often feel darker than the days that led up to it. The memory of summertime sunshine that lasts late into the evening has become a fever dream and I long for the spring forward that will once again bring a sunset after six.
Were it not for the bustle of the holiday season, I would wrap myself in a blanket and mark the shortest day of the year with my best impression of a hibernating bear. I find it difficult to tempt myself out of torpor even to go on hikes—usually a foolproof way to get myself off the couch—when I have to worry about my water freezing and packing adequate layers that won’t restrict my movement.
Winter can be a beautiful season to spend time outdoors—the frosted grey of frozen rivers and lakes, evergreens dusted with powdery flakes, the sparkle of icicles catching the light—but the snowglobe moments don’t last very long in a city. Fresh snow is quickly marred by the dirt of thousands of people, dogs, and cars in close proximity. Thin sheets of ice conceal puddles on the sidewalks and give way under my steps to spray slush over my ankles. Reaching more pristine landscapes requires a drive that would be inconsequential in warm weather, but can become hazardous in icy conditions. It’s no surprise that the urge to stay indoors overcomes even avid outdoor enthusiasts.
I occasionally wonder if I would feel differently if I lived in a remote cabin where I could step off my front steps in skis or snowshoes. I imagine taking advantage of every stray sunny hour outdoors, rather than stalking the ten-day weather forecast to find an afternoon with mild temps and minimal wind that will justify packing up the car to get to a trail.
In my previous neighborhood, I lived just a few blocks from Lake Michigan and even in the coldest temperatures, I would bundle up so I could watch the waves crash against the concrete shore. It’s too long of a walk from where I live now to do that on a whim, so I make do with viewing the Chicago River from a bridge where cars pass just a few feet behind me—not quite the same draw as the fury of a Great Lake.
Although heading outside in inclement weather could be seen as an adventure, my visits to the lakefront to watch the waves were always more about rest and contemplation. Staring out at the expanse of water quieted my mind and I would return home soothed, rather than invigorated.
I try to recreate that feeling some nights by illuminating my living room with only a tabletop Christmas tree and icicle lights hung above the window.2 It’s too dark to read and the blue light of a screen would ruin the ambiance, so I just sit silently and focus on the glow. It feels indulgent to do nothing when my to-do list is neverending, but why shouldn’t I indulge? The natural world around me is resting—bears have found a cozy den, plants have gone dormant, lakes have frozen over—so perhaps I too should be embracing the pace of the season.
All photos in the main body of the post were taken at Starved Rock State Park, about a two hour drive from Chicago. The park overlooks the Illinois River and is known for its waterfalls and sandstone canyons.
Three seconds, according to timeanddate.com for Chicago on December 22, 2024:
The view from my couch:
It is indeed always great to venture outside even during the coldest part of the winter. Today I was rewarded by spotting a rough-legged hawk on my land. I generally only spot this hawk once or twice a year and it is always a treat.
Beautiful photos! Lovely post!