My eyes struggle to stay open. The covers hefty on my body. The cold room beckons me to get out of bed, so I snuggle a little deeper and look out at yet another grey November day. As I turn over, I feel every part of my body ache out in protest. It seems the grey has also settled into my bones as well as my soul. So, this is why old people flock to Florida, I think.
With a heavy sigh I laboriously lift myself up and out of bed knowing it is going to be another day of drudgery, working toward and for lightness and light. Coffee first and the regimen begins with light box spectrum light therapy. Then I know I must try to get onto the damned mat for yoga and meditation. Yes, that combination always elevates my mood. Then there is woods walking with the dog. Yes, nature always helps I think as I slug down my daily triple dose of Liquid Vitamin D3 and feel my low energy working against these remedies that I know are good for me.
Coffee first, just focus, one step at a time in front of the light and I begin to write. Yes, writing helps. Then I read a few pages of my book read but that mat just stares back at me taunting. It is rainy and cold and raw and grey, and the woods will be a nightmare with my golden, Scout, the mud slut who finds any patch of mud and wallows in it pushing his nose and body down deep into the cool dark sludge, he wriggles like a snake to get all the muck he can manage to stick to him.
And then he looks at me smiling as I try to urge him out. For every ounce of joy it brings to him, it brings me exasperation two fold. I have lost my sense of humor and take it as a personal attack on my time when he chooses mud over me. Every time. No, I can’t deal with all that mud today.
And as I write Scout is here, at my feet, begging for that woods walk. Look outside dude I say as he stares up at me with those big brown balls of eyes and that brown nose that is now slowly turning to a dull pink, to erasure nose. Yes, I think, even the poor dog feels the effects of this darkness as he loses the light, his nose loses its color as I have lost mine. “Snow nose” the experts call it. I dream of the dog days of summer…those long days of light and swelter with that sun illuminating my skin and the poor dogs nose has enough sunshine to stay brown.
A physical reminder that we are all, in one way or another, affected by the lack of light. Three days of sun in the entire month of November. Three. No more. Just three. Three.
I wander into my office and see the watercolor paints. A perfect distraction from the darkness that is pressing in and trying to suffocate me. I should paint. That helps. Maybe later I think as I head to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. One more cup than I usually drink. It is going to be a tough day. I know ALL that I should do and have to do, but the truth is that November is winning today. It is winning because I know it is just the beginning of so many dark months to come. I grumble inside and stumble back past the watercolors and put my coffee down and begin to wash the page with water to limber it up for all of the color it will absorb in my search for joy; for the ignition of the creative energy that lives and resides inside of me.
And as I stand swishing the brush in the deepest darkest purple I can find, a precipitous, dizzying ray of light beams through the window and onto my workspace, almost blinding me. In a glimmering moment of pure exaltation, I exhale a small smile and suddenly feel, a whisper lighter. I thank the goddess of the sun as my brush moves lightly and freely over the page. One flicker of sunshine on my table and then you are gone. But today, it is enough. It is more than I had expected as the cloudy day settles in and around and I realize I am going to make it through, yet another, no-light November day in New Hampshire.