The light is returning. It’s been just about a week now since I first noticed a narrow band of brightness on the horizon at 6a. Which means we are in that sweet spot where, for a few weeks, my daily schedule aligns with the earth’s and I get to watch the distant mountains backlit and the sky slowly turning color every morning as I rise and go about my morning routine.
As much as it is a welcome change, though, it also feels a bit like we’re zooming from the quiet, fallow, dark days to the frenzy of spring. I’m noticing how the changing light is unsettling me and leaving me more susceptible to anxiety. It makes sense, just like how the rapidly diminishing light of September can unsettle and trigger depression, but I hadn’t connected my seasonal anxiety about all. the. things. to. be. done. with the accelerating changes in the light.
This winter was very much an inward season for me. Not that my mind was especially dark or sad or withdrawn from the world. More like a season where quiet felt right. While I’ve devoured a pile of books, many of my explorations were the sort where words weren’t really necessary and didn’t quite translate. It’s a big part of the reason why I’ve been more scarce in this space. It’s just been a season of quiet. And now I feel the light pulling me back out, beckoning me out of the quiet and into the chaos of another year in this world.
I’m not entirely sure what the thread of this ramble is, but it has me thinking about a lovely prayer from John O’Donahue so I think I’ll leave you with that. His book Eternal Echoes has been on my bedside table for the last couple months and he opens it with a version of Matins, poetry for the dawn, which ends with this: