Now that winter is just about here again (Russian cold front rolling in tomorrow), I’m back in the writing mood. The other seasons are outdoor seasons, and all the sunshine banishes the depression that tends to open the veil between me and poetry. So here I am again, for the literal and figurative dark time.
The past few days I’ve found myself thinking, “So what difference does it make if I see a complete solar eclipse (for example)? I’m just going to die at some point, so what’s the point of seeing things?” And then I immediately think, “Well, yes, I’m going to die someday, so the point of seeing things is to make life matter. Asking what’s the point just proves the point, really.”
Daylight Savings time ends; Di’s brain asks, “What’s the point of things?” Lots of meds this winter to try to stave off that question and keep seeing what matters. But apparently the meds won’t keep the dark away completely. I was hopeful that upping my dose would do the trick, but I guess the darkness can’t be tricked. So I’ll just have to keep telling it No when it says there’s no point. Yes there is. Yes.