It happens to me every year, the morning of Midwinter's Day.
The previous night, we've sung the Sun down from the highest hill in the city.
As the Sun sets, we light the Fire. All night, we keep the Fire burning, with singing, dancing, feasting.
Now we've sung the Sun up out of the Mississippi Valley, and had our festive Sunrise brunch.
Exhilarated, ready for a nap, I'm driving home, marveling at all the traffic.
What are all these people still running around for? I find myself thinking.