This shortest day has been flooded with sunlight. I slept almost none of the night. The hinges of the year have felt rusted shut for a long time, but I can't pretend it hasn't still been swinging to the rhythm of axial tilt whatever once and future fantasies people like to frame themselves inside. Sidereal time does not care whether I still have to ask the contractors to mask themselves before they cross our threshold—strange guisers—to repair some small parts of our house. It was oddly, seasonally apropos. Happy solstice! If the sun can come back, why not the rest of us, at least once in a while?
Links
Page Summary
Active Entries
- 1: None of us are traitors till we are
- 2: Swimming through these long-forgotten lands
- 3: Sifting through centuries for moments of your own
- 4: The bones of houses show in the summertime
- 5: Barely even human body parts will give yourself away
- 6: The water's depths can't kill me yet
- 7: You flipped the script and you shot the plot
Style Credit
- Style: Classic for Refried Tablet by
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
zvi and
Expand Cut Tags
No cut tags