Winter Solstice returns the light, but deepens the cold. The sun stands still, wordlessly. Then it turns. It returns. Silence reigns. The moon wanes. Breath freezes in icy clouds. Return. Time to return. Time to turn inward. Time to remember what I am made of. Time to consider my age. I am five billion years in the making. The earth is five billion years old. I am made of the earth. Every cell, every mitochondria is a gift from the earth, from five billion years of recycling. Wait. I am fourteen billion years old. I am stardust. Every molecule, every atom, every electron is made of stardust. The stars are fourteen billion years old. Shining. Silent. Shhhh
