and i will be your sword, and i will be your might

they sky today is painted butter yellows and sweet pinks. the sun can be seen directly, its edges unsure but definitive in the haze of snow and condensation that hangs without falling in the air.

i read somewhere that the solstice of winter, despite being the darkest day of the year, is really the embodiment of the promise of spring. it is, after all, the solstice that marks the point where the earth begins to turn back toward the sun, the hours of daylight stretching further and further.

as the butter yellows and sweet pinks drift toward strained hues of purple and blue, i'm content with the promise.