different seasons

the beauty of fall, the comfort of winter

When the sun sets on this semi-small town, I have a perfect vantage point if I stand at the end of my driveway and face west. It’s basically the same vantage point I had growing up, just seperated by maybe 100 feet. I make the pilgrimage out to the driveway about three nights a week during most of the year but when fall comes, when the colors seem deeper and more vibrant, when the sunsets bring with them a sense of urgency, I will stand there maybe five nights a week, sometimes seven. To watch a sunset in the waning light of early September is to witness something deep and moving. Summer is almost over, next comes autumn and winter and the end of things; end of lively gardens, end of extended daylight, end of the year. The sunrises are just as expressive and I will stand outside in the morning and face east so I can see all the colors of the sky hovering above my parents’ house.

I used to crave sunlight. For most of my adult life I had seasonal depression. Winter brought darkness, misery, the unspooling of what thin thread I was hanging on by. I hated the way the season could squeeze the sun out of the sky. I wanted to hibernate, to get under the covers and not emerge until that first waft of warm air reached me in my bed cave.

One of the many things that happened to me in 2020 was the gremlin who lives in my brain flipped a switch. There was no lead up to this, no notice, no signs. I was sure this switch had a sign on it that said DO NOT TOUCH in dayglo letters. Nevertheless, things changed. It was maybe April or May - we hadn’t gone back to work yet after shutting down for COVID - when the dread I’d been feeling since the early days of the pandemic began to feel heavier than normal. I was, surprisingly, dreading the coming summer. Instead of embracing the longer days and abundant warmth, I was feeling anxious about the months ahead.

I didn’t want more daylight hours. I suddenly craved early darkness, craved the need to feel cocooned by the blanket of night. I want the days to be done with instead of looming before me with all that time and space I don’t know how to fill. I want to close the blinds and settle in for the evening, but the summer sun, stubborn as always, stays its ground.

I always thought my seasonal depression disorder would right itself eventually. I never thought it would reverse itself. But here I am, welcoming darkness, feeling fully enveloped by changing of the seasons. I want this.

Winter follows fall, everyone cautions me. I don’t care. I know how treacherous winter can be with its relentless grayness and bare trees and always the threat of snow. I know how after Christmas, the charm of the season wears out and everyone starts counting down days until baseball. I now embrace all of this. Winter feels cozy, comfortable. I burrow in and pile up my favorite winter albums. I sit with them - The National, Fleet Foxes, Band of Horses, Julien Baker, Bright Eyes - for hours, maybe there’s snow coming down and I have the fireplace going. It’s a scene I play over and over in my head during the summer months when I’m having a hard time. It’s what I want life to feel like always, to forever have that feeling of comfort I get when I look at a box of Sleepytime tea.

Fall and winter are graceful seasons; between the ballet of falling leaves and the soft hush of falling snow, I now feel like I’m being held in the hand of benevolent god during months that used to make me want to crawl into bed. I am in an ever shaken snow globe, that set scene with me and my records, my body language telling you everything you need to know: I am safe. I am warmed. I am in my element.

This week has been too warm, too humid. I am patiently waiting for the day I can wear my new Steely Dan hoodie, patiently waiting to wake up to a chill in the air, to sleep with open windows at night. I await the dark, the cold, the embrace of those former enemies. The sun is setting, but I can’t see it. It’s grey and gloomy out, but not in the good winter way. It’s an oppressive atmosphere, one that belongs to summer. I’m ready for change.

Here’s to fall and winter sunsets, to comfort and warmth and soups and stews, to joyful holidays and snow kissed lawns, to records and sleepytime tea.

Hold ourselves together
With our arms around the stereo for hours
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
While it sings to itself or whatever it does
When it sings to itself of its long lost loves