A few days ago we stopped losing daylight. After months of bleeding time, as it were, the pendulum swung back. No loss that day, in fact we gained 6 seconds.
Such is the significance of the solstice--we're now tilting back toward the light, if only incrementally.
In this 'modern' world we seem to have lost all touch with the importance of subtle things, smaller chunks, little bits.
I made it my mission that day to slow down and notice. Just that -- notice -- in hopes that in so doing I might find value in things I often take for granted. And, extrapolating from there, that I might notice more often.
Some of my desire to pay attention came from a certain empathy, sympathy if you will, with friends that live near to the Arctic Circle. They're currently working with -40* temps and a 'day' that lasts about 6 hours, not that they ever see the sun in that time. More of a dim twilight as seen through ice fog and ground smog. My life, my current situation, couldn't be much more cush by comparison. So it seemed even more important to pay attention.
In dog years Fang had 42ish seconds to notice, and if you know him, celebrate. Given a choice, he'd spend that chunk of every minute in/on/under snow, doing whatever came naturally.
In no apparent-to-me order, I noticed:
The things you see when you're looking at something else.
That Jeny spends maybe six seconds of every day not smiling.
That clouds be damned, UV happens.
That the time from sunset to earth shadow to planets appearing is long enough to start shivering if you're improperly dressed.
That subtle but critical change in sound from crust that can easily support you to crust that breaks and throws you.
That if you love to do something--tilt at windmills, worship java, savor a boots-up-roll in the snow, sing whilst driving, arrange your life around the simple pleasure of a bike ride, you should do it at every opportunity. This fleeting pulse that we call a minute, a day, a life, is simply too fragile to waste.