As I grow older so my perception of the passing of time, and the seasons, changes.
For a number of reasons, winters have become particularly difficult for me to endure. The cold seeps deep into the fabric of my being and the decreasing hours of daylight serve only to feed the insatiable ci du, the black dog, of my depression and isolation.
And so the midwinter solstice becomes increasingly significant to me. For although the winter has barely even begun to sink its fangs into this part of the world, at least I can draw some (cold) comfort in knowing that, however minutely, however slowly, from here on out, the days will begin to lengthen. The wheel of the year has turned its farthest and, after this moment of precarious equilibrium, will begin to turn back towards the light. For this small, precious blessing – this first tiny germination of the seeds of the new year and with it, the sun and the light – today I am grateful.
(Image: Moel Ty Uchaf by Richard John Linnett)