I’ll tell you what bothers me about this time of year:
It’s turning to face the sun and feeling no power there. It’s
walking among the shards of long shadows even at noon. It’s shivering from the
unaccustomed chill of a sudden drop into a bout of wintry temperatures. It’s
watching the light being strangled slowly but inexorably from the day, as though
the gods have tied a drying piece of leather tightly around it.
That’s what this time of year is like for me. I’m insanely
sensitive to the nuances of nature and the seasons, and I feel as though I’m
being strangled and dipped into something cold. I wish I could enjoy the autumn
as everybody else apparently does, but it seems that I’m a spring and summer
man. Autumn offers the odd consolation here and there, like the occasional
visual delight, but it isn’t enough.
And I know that it’s all relative. Even the southern half of
Britain where I live lies on
the same latitudes as southern Alaska,
Labrador and southern Scandinavia. If I lived
north of the Arctic Circle, it would be even
worse. And if I lived somewhere hot and sticky, I don’t suppose I’d like that
either.
This is me being a whingepot. If I had the money, I would
probably become a migratory species, and then I’d probably whinge about not
having anything to whinge about.
8 comments:
It seems to me that the physical changes of the earth shedding its summer clothing for its Spartan winter garb also inspires a sort of emotional bereftness in you. The shards of shadows, the strangulation of light... none of that sounds positive.
I can't for the life of me remember who wrote this (Thoreau, possibly), but I once read something so perfectly apt... it described how conditions in nature can bring on the most melancholy -- or the most joyful -- of moods. A full moon spilling over onto freshly fallen snow can inspire exhilarated gaiety or can... well, make you want to kill yourself. It depends on how the scenery translates through your own personal filter.
But there's beauty in every season, and winter's is simply more subtle. You should make a personal mission of finding it.
Glad I could inspire a post, even one as whingey as this. ;)
(Whinge is a new word for me. I rather like it!)
Well observed, River. A couple of years ago I 'discovered' the beauty and value of winter. But filters change, and mine seems to keep coming back to needing life and energy to define the beauty. I suppose you could draw an analogy with a sleeping child, who can look very beautiful in sleep, yet still the true beauty lies in the energy that streams forth from the open eyes. And I prefer to see 'shards' and 'strangulation' as counter-positive, rather than negative. I perceive a difference.
As far as I know, 'whinge' is in the dictionary. (Aussies like to use it when describing Brits.) 'Whingepot' is even better, but I suspect it's an English colloquialism.
A finer analogy I've never read. Curious that you divine a difference between counter-positive and negative. I'm afraid I can't...
For me, personally, winter is a time to turn my focus inward and find joy in all my activities around the house. Chopping wood, making a fire in the stove and cooking in it, drinking tea... just generally living quietly.
I grew up in the United States, and whinge isn't a word we use, as far as I know. Whingepot is wonderful though. Y'all sure do have some colorful phrases; I love listening to my British friends talk, because I learn all sorts of new ways to say things.
Bloody hell, River, now you've got me trying to work out the difference between counter-positive and negative. I know there is one, but what? I think it's something to do with counter-positive being aggressive, while negative is passive. I think that's what it is. I'll be going for my nocturnal perambulation shortly. I'll muse some more.
You see, that's the trouble with you modern women. You just won't play Dorothy Wordsworth and stay quietly in the background while William strides across the fells contemplating his withered turnip.
Brits and Americans seem to be borrowing a lot from their respective languages these days.
Hah! Gender aside, I'm a living, thinking being, and it's my job to be curious. To question! It's good for others, to be provoked to deeper thought.
And who would ever (EVER) want to be Dorothy Wordsworth? My lord.
Well don't provoke me to too much deep thought, will you? I've spent my life going down there, and sometimes come near to drowning. Paddling in the shallows has its place, too, as does just being plain silly.
Are you aware of Sue Limb's book 'The Wordsmiths at Gorsemere?' It's a parody loosely based on Dorothy's diary, and is hilarious. I believe it's out of print now, but if ever you come across a copy...
Oh, don't worry. I value the silly, as well as lolling about in the shallows. Too much deep thought's dangerous, I agree.
I've never heard of Limb's book, but if I do ever find a copy, I'll be sure to pick it up.
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