There is something strange about the dark days of December. The world slows down, but time itself seems to run faster. With December 21st approaching, the shortest day of the year, someone seems to want to remind you that everything goes by faster than you would like. Blink twice and the year is gone, as if someone turned off the light.
This morning I noticed it again. I was outside before the sun had even decided whether it wanted to rise. Not because I'm a morning person, but because my young pup thought the day had already started.
He has no winter dip, no clock, no complicated thoughts. For him only the now exists. And now it smells like adventure, wet grass and things that are probably not edible.
As we walked through the semi-darkness, I realized how strange it really is. He lives in a time that we have long lost. For him, every minute is a discovery, every drop a drama or a party, depending on his mood. And me? I follow along like someone still trying to understand who sped up time without deliberation.
Maybe that is the secret of this dark period. Not that the world is becoming bleaker, but that it forces us to look. Really worth watching. To the lampposts that come on earlier. To the silence that falls over the street. To that little animal next to you who has no idea that this is almost the shortest day of the year and doesn't care at all.
He's slowing me down. Not subtle. Definitely not soft. He pulls on the leash and my attention. As if he wants to say: You blink too much. You miss things.
And maybe he's right. Maybe that's the lesson of December, even the shortest day is long enough if you really live it.
The year goes by quickly. Too fast. But sometimes, just sometimes, that little puppy makes sure that time keeps passing by your side. Like he's giving you one more chance to pay attention.
