The Warmth of the March Sun - Mar 12 2021

 

The Warmth of the March Sun

Mar 12 2021

All winter, the skylights are covered with snow.

Obliterating the sky,

and taunting me, through the dark season

within these looming walls.

I am surprised

at the warmth of the March sun,

as the earth tilts marginally closer

and the landscape is transformed.

When light pours freely in

and the snow quickly clears.

When melt-water trickles

until it turns to flood,

small lakes are formed

and soil churns to mud.

So why am I reluctant

to leave the close embrace of dark,

the protection

of its cozy restful stillness?

To let go of cold's bracing permanence

with its power to preserve,

suspending the world

in the state of winter

beneath the weight of snow?

Perhaps because

I find change challenging.

Because I prefer slow and steady

to transformation and flood.

The unaccustomed heat

and the rapidly lengthening days.

The return of the sun

and the earth revealed

in all its vital disarray.

I repainted, knocked down walls, and installed windows and skylights when I renovated because the house felt claustrophobic: small rooms, not enough windows, the paint mostly dark. But failed to anticipate that when needed most, the skylights would be useless!

The melt accelerates like crazy in early spring. The heat of the sun surprises; trickle turns to flood; and overnight, the skylights seem to clear their heavy load.

I'm always rather discombobulated by spring. It's the pace of change. The re-acclimation to heat. How intrusive light feels to unaccustomed eyes. I believe that the incidence of depression peaks this time of year. So perhaps the discomfort I feel adjusting is not only more common than I think, but as much due to biology as to my temperament. I feel vaguely guilty about this: instead of celebrating the season of light and rebirth, as any virtuous person would, I'm glum and resist it. I find myself revelling in that last blast of winter, which often interrupts the downhill rush of spring.

I vacillate between favourite seasons: the ease of summer, the beauty of fall, the coziness of winter. But there is no doubt that mud-and-bug season is the one I dislike most: when the world is reborn . . .but not without all the usual mess and pain of giving birth!