There’s something about this time of year that just saps all the energy out of me. I wonder if it has something to do with the time change. Suddenly we go from starting to get light in the mornings when I get up to it still being dark when I start work. It doesn’t help that the days are getting shorter. It’s as though I’m solar powered and my batteries aren’t getting fully charged.
And yet I like the dark. There’s something special about seeing the sun, that’s moved to the south, set early. The cooler weather makes the sky brighter and clearer; the stars seem closer at this time of year.
The cold doesn’t bother me either. This is the time of year when we switch from cooling the house to heating it. There’s that short period when the furnace fires up for the first time in months and there’s a distinct burning smell that goes through the whole house. That doesn’t sound appealing but somehow it is. It’s the sign that the weather is really changing, that we’re moving into the time of year when the holidays start, when everything winds down, when the pace gets a little slower. School days are far behind me but when I was in school this was a time when even the teachers took a more relaxed attitude. The pace might pick up a bit after Thanksgiving but it would slow down again as Christmas approached. This was in spite of, or maybe because of, final exams—the lessons could drift a bit so we could have time to prepare, to really absorb all that we’d already crammed into the exciting, energetic fall days when everything was still new.
Then, this morning, there was frost on the car’s windshield. I was already running late and it was just one more thing to deal with. And yet I was okay with it. It just meant I had to take a little extra time, relax, and let the car’s engine warm up before I finally set off for work. I was fine with that. It’s that time of year. There was no need to rush.
I enjoy not rushing with you, my friend, and thanks for your cheery perspective on the dark, which lightens my day.
I’m glad you slowed down and stopped here, Ann. You’ve just reminded me of Robert Frost stopping to look at woods on a snowy evening.