It’s the shortest day of the year —
the winter solstice — for light. I
got up at seven-fifteen and it was

dark. I entered my morning routine
that involves a few meds and many
supplements and flossing and brush-

ing and making a pot of coffee from
freshly ground gourmet coffee beans
and filtered water and the reading

of three meditations and two poems
and by then, as I sit at the computer
typing out the lines of a poem, I

see the light arrive in the neighbor-
hood. That routine feels really good.
Then I’m off to the service station

to have the oil changed in the car
and then a few more errands and then
home for homemade soup, an afternoon

of some exercise, reading and the ex-
perience of anticipating watching the
light recede and darkness descend early

and I’m already starting to yawn.