I never mourn the loss of the light. I began to notice the change in the shadows as the afternoon sun slants through the trees as autumn approached. I watch the sun peek over the horizon a little bit later each week, and now, soon after the dinner dishes are washed, twilight settles over the yard.
Soon the trees will stretch their long bare branches, naked limbs against the bleak winter sky. I will take my evening walk, bundled up against the cold wind, with the sky visible through the now empty trees. Stars are scattered across the black velvet sky. The smell of woodsmoke wafts through the cold, night air. My feet crunch through the dead leaves still scattered on the grass as I head for the warm room just inside my front door.
The next few months of darkness does not bother me. I enjoy evenings curled up by the fire, reading or knitting and sipping one of my favorite hot beverages. I will turn to my winter menu: stews, soups, pot pie, and chili.
It is time to begin "my long winter's nap." The earth must sleep in order to renew itself and so must I.
Sliding beneath the cold sheets, tucking the goose down around me, I burrow into my nest of covers and hibernate.
I will use the long, dark evenings as an opportunity to renew myself, slowing down and taking stock of where I am at this moment in my life. And when spring arrives, I will look forward to the earth's slow awakening.
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