Open Features: Dark Into Light
…I could never be described as a poet even though my family tree indicates the presence of Percy Bysshe Shelley hanging on a distant branch. So I had a look through some of his sonnets to see whether there was any indication of his thoughts on winter. Well he had plenty to say about lots of things and as a ‘romantic’ poet, much of it concentrated on feelings and nature. Sure enough, tucked away in the sixth verse of a work written in the last year of his life (1821), were some simple but apt lines that rang very true. “I love snow, and all the forms of the radiant frost; I love waves, and winds and storms, everything almost which is Nature’s, and may be untainted by man’s misery.”…
Though she is not enamoured of the dark days Mary Basham resolves to make the very best of Winter.
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It’s early afternoon on a wild, wet December day. The rain is lashing the windowpane and the wind is buffeting the Silver birch, bending its branches over like the arms of the corps de ballet in Swan Lake. There is not a hint of colour in the sky other than battleship grey and I realise that all my resolve about embracing the season amounts to a load of old tripe. Yes, it is cosy to switch on the lights, draw the curtains, shut out the world and sit on the sofa reading a good book, but the important word missing here is ‘occasionally’.
Winter is historically known as the ‘dark season’ and whether we want to think of it like that or not, the truth is, it is dark. It’s dark when we wake in the morning and it’s dark by afternoon tea. On a rough calculation, that is an average of sixteen hours of dark. For a four-letter word, that carries some weight.
When I sat in the sunshine of a glorious autumn day and meditated on the months to come, I tried to think positive. Winter means no more mowing the lawn but the joy of ploughing through seed catalogues. Casseroles and curries without a guilty conscience. Snuggling into cashmere. Time for old films, listening to music and enjoying the company of friends and family over the festive season.
Pie in the sky? Not quite; it can be like that and when it is, then it’s lovely.
Sadly the rest of the time requires an element of pure survival. Even if the wind is cutting in from the east and freezing your kneecaps through multiple layers of winter woollies, there is still shopping to do. Driving anywhere on the motorway requires super efficient windscreen wipers to cope with the deluge of juggernaut spray and going for a walk is frequently not the uplifting experience it’s suppose to be. There’s something infinitely depressing about piles of soggy leaves and the smell of decay.
As for gardening, for me winter ought to be the most liberating season of the year. Plenty to do and no fear of coming face to face with a frog or toad, my particular phobia. But guess what, around here frogs haven’t heard about hibernation and they have a tendency to wait until I am thoroughly engrossed in deep border clearing before making a personal appearance and frightening the daylights out of me.
Is there a light at the end of the tunnel? Well yes there is. The shortest day is only a couple of weeks away and after that, light starts to return to the world.
Our pagan ancestors called it the Winter Solstice; the Romans, Saturnalia. Both were celebrated around what we know as the third week of December and involved much eating, drinking and jolly good times to mark the occasion. How natural that Christmas follows much the same course.
The build up to the festive holiday fills the dark days with fairy lights and whether we like to admit it or not, a kind of magic that is not entirely the preserve of children. New Year, with its encouragement to turn over a new leaf, brings us the opportunity to believe in all those hopes and dreams for the future. Then there is Mother Nature’s own little lights shining through the cold earth; the appearance of the first snowdrops, quickly followed by crocus, tiny iris and the brilliant yellow of miniature daffodils. That really is magic.
When I was a child I always depicted winter in my artistic efforts as a house white with snow, a snowman in the garden, carrot for its nose and coal for eyes. Gathered around were all my friends, holding cups of steaming cocoa. Recently one of my grandchildren drew a similar picture…minus the cocoa. I am not sure children still drink the stuff! However, the comparison illustrates that despite the age gap and the fact that it rarely snows here, human nature wants or needs to conjure up winter as white and wonderful.
A white world has the same ability to appeal to some basic instinct within us as a fresh sheet of paper or in more ‘horticultural’ terms for gardeners, as a newly dug plot of earth. We can start anew; wipe out the old; write whatever we want, or bring a new vision to life from the soil.
I could never be described as a poet even though my family tree indicates the presence of Percy Bysshe Shelley hanging on a distant branch. So I had a look through some of his sonnets to see whether there was any indication of his thoughts on winter. Well he had plenty to say about lots of things and as a ‘romantic’ poet, much of it concentrated on feelings and nature. Sure enough, tucked away in the sixth verse of a work written in the last year of his life (1821), were some simple but apt lines that rang very true. “I love snow, and all the forms of the radiant frost; I love waves, and winds and storms, everything almost which is Nature’s, and may be untainted by man’s misery.”
How right he was. Winter is Nature’s way of spring-cleaning the earth and giving us a new, theoretical page on which to write. It is my miserable outlook that is giving me problems, so here’s to reminding myself of my resolve to enjoy this winter and get on with it!
Season’s greetings.
