Three weeks before winter solstice she sat, cross-armed and tight-lipped in the ER lobby beside the man who was no longer her husband, but to whom she owed this final wifely duty.
Three weeks after winter solstice, the divorce papers arrived, delivered by an apologetic clerk who averted their eyes from her grief-stained cheeks and the half-packed life she was not yet ready to leave.
Six weeks after winter solstice, she landed in the fertile darkness of new beginnings and collapsed, deep in grief and transformation, upon the earth.
At spring equinox the divorce was finalized, a brief romantic tragedy in gold-plated 12-point type – just three pages felt so heavy in her hands.
By summer solstice, there was still a slight indention on her ring finger, but she’s learned to trust all scars must fade in time.
The Sun always returns.
Helen "HP" Rivers 
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