Winter Light

The sun sets at 4:47 PM today. Winter solstice. The shortest day of the year, though it never feels quite as dramatic as the name suggests.

But there’s something about winter light that’s different from summer light. It’s more precious, maybe. More intentional. When you only get eight hours of daylight, you notice it more.

I find myself drawn to windows during these dark months. Standing in patches of sunlight like a cat, soaking up whatever warmth I can get. The light feels thicker somehow, more golden.

There’s a Japanese word, komorebi, that describes sunlight filtering through leaves. In winter, we get something similar but different—light filtering through bare branches, creating intricate shadow patterns on snow or pavement.

The darkness isn’t all bad. It makes the light more meaningful. It forces you to slow down, to notice the small things. The way frost forms on windows. The sound snow makes under your feet. The particular quality of air that lets you know it’s going to snow soon.

Tomorrow, the days start getting longer again. Slowly, barely perceptibly, but longer nonetheless. That’s the promise of the solstice—even in the deepest darkness, the light is already returning.