Demeter

Happiness pales when the clocks go back and darkness descends at four thirty—Joni Mitchel sings songs of joy and peace, and of putting up reindeer—I don’t have a river to skate away on, just this hex enshrouding me this time of year, a spell so hard to break. Talk, walk, cook, clean, anything to dispel the gray blanket of girdling thought while I am waiting for my daughter.

The phone rings: no, she’s not coming until later because she’s with her new friend who’s driving her down from the Finger Lakes near school.

The light out the window, ethereal and silver, sluices between the slender trees dressed in their pre-winter skeletons. I photograph the light through the glass, and then armed with a hat, my coat, and my phone, I step outside towards the light on the island where I live.

I shoot pictures waiting, waiting for my daughter.