The days are getting shorter. The sun rises later and later. My almanac says it will come up at exactly 7:11 this morning. From my bedroom window, I search the horizon, and as soon as I see the bright tip of the sun I glance at my wrist watch.
7:10:58
It's a digital watch, so it keeps the exact time. I know it's the exact time because I check it every Monday morning by calling the telephone company's toll-free time number.
"Good morning. At the tone, the time will be seven-eleven. Exactly."
Bong.
These digital watches are amazing. Mine is five years old, and it's only lost two seconds in the last week. According to the telephone company, anyway.
But according to the weather channel, my watch must have lost 15 seconds. Because according to those little digits counting off the exact time in the upper right-hand corner of my TV screen, it is not 7:11 a.m., exactly. Instead, it's exactly:
7:11:13
That's right. The telephone company and the weather channel don't agree on exactly what time it is. One says it's 13 seconds later than the other.
Well, at least they agree on the date. Today is exactly:
Mon 12-5
That's according to my digital wristwatch. But its sophisticated electronic display doesn't tell me anything else about what's really going on, and neither will the telephone company. Even the weather channel will only give you temperatures, forecasts, and weather maps. They're all computerized. Digitalized. But it's not enough. It's not what I really want to know.
Wouldn't it be great to pick up your digital telephone and call a toll-free Celestial number?
"Good morning. The moon is in the Seventh House, and at the tone, Jupiter will be aligned with Mars."
Bong.
What I really want is a digital information system to remind me of more important things than time. I don't need to be told exactly how late I am to my next appointment. It's not the lost 13 seconds I miss. It's a sense of connection between my electronic, computerized, climate-controlled life and the woods outside my window. I'd like to know more about the seasons.
Take the winter solstice. When it finally arrives later this month, my digital wristwatch won't even mention it. Neither will my telephone or my computer.
It's an important date, though. Maybe the most important date in the whole year. Because it means that somewhere thousands of miles to the south of here, the sun has stopped in the heavens, turned north, and begun its long journey back to Baltimore again. It means these short dark days won't last forever. It means spring is coming.
But if you don't pay attention, you'll miss the solstice. It'll fly right past you in the rush of holiday shopping and the year-end hubbub at the office.
It'll be easier than ever to miss it this year. You see, even if your digital watch were properly programmed, it wouldn't know how to signal you because the winter solstice isn't a date. It's a moment in time -- the precise moment at which the southern migration of the sun's position on the celestial sphere comes to an end directly above the Tropic of Capricorn.
Often that moment occurs on Dec. 22. But not this year. This year it will happen at exactly:
9:23 p.m., Wed 12-21
But you won't hear any bong, and your digital watch won't beep. So you've got to pay attention.
Actually, if you look out your window, you'll see things start to change at the end of this week. This Thursday, Dec. 8, the sun will set at exactly 4:35 p.m. That's the earliest it will set this year. That's important to know because it means that every day, beginning this Friday, our afternoons will start to get a little lighter and a little longer.
The mornings, though, will continue getting darker and darker and shorter and shorter. The latest sunrise this winter won't come up until Jan. 5.
So for the next four weeks, it's a trade-off. Shorter mornings but longer afternoons. Those mirrored but uneven progressions will create the shortest day of the year on Dec. 21.
My digital mind won't notice any of these celestial developments as I check my watch and rush off to my next appointment. But somewhere inside myself, my spirit will pick them up -- as I gaze at the horizon while walking our dog in the morning.
Did you ever notice how on some days winter can be such a bright colorful season? The sun shines through the naked
silhouetted trees and gleams on their outstretched limbs. Sunlight streams through our living room windows, and the cat curls up where the rug is warm.
On the weekends, I can sit on the sofa and read in the sun. Soup simmers in the kitchen. A fire glows. As the sun sets, the sky darkens. Blue. Purple. Black. The tea kettle whistles.
Winter is the season for hearth and home. For gathering-in. It's a quiet time, a time to conserve energy and replenish reserves. Time to slow down, to walk, not run. To reflect. Lead life internally. Underground. To hibernate. Take more naps. Go to bed earlier. Snuggle under your goose down quilt.
"Retire early at night," my Chinese calendar says, "and rise late in the morning. Wait for the rising sun."
A good winter leads to a powerful spring -- "restored energy, clear vision, a sense of purpose."
?3 Tim Baker is a lawyer who writes from Columbia.