Brighten up

Among our friends and acquaintances in the village there is a general exodus, at any point between now and the end of February, for two, three or even four weeks. Most are retired, of course, and affluent enough to journey to the Mediterranean, Madeira or Tenerife, hoping to escape the worst of the winter cold, and exchange it for warmth, blue skies and seaside cafés. Understandable, but not my therapy. I'm sanguine about cold, ice or snow. There's always another layer, or another log on the fire

From my perspective, now that we have passed the solstice, the worst is over. Every day will be longer; every day will show new shoots and new signs of life returning. It's the long, slow retreat through November and December - every day another step into darkness, another death - that drives me into melancholy. There is a sound biological basis to this, of course - plenty of evidence of the impact of photoperiod, and changes in the photoperiod, on the hormone balance and brain chemistry of a wide range of organisms, including ourselves. SAD - seasonal affective disorder - is best reserved for those who are truly disabled by the effect, but plenty of us find a dwindling of enthusiasm, optimism and decisiveness as the sun retreats

This is one reason we take ourselves to the sea in those months. I tell myself that I'm catching the light as it comes from the sky, and catching it again as it bounces back from the water, doubling the dose. The impetus to get out on the pathways, rain or shine, ensures a daily top up. Self-delusion, perhaps, but it works. Today, between showers, I did a quick post-storm survey of the garden. Our neighbour has lost their apple tree, but we seem to be intact. As a bonus, I found corroborating evidence that the light is returning. All shall be well again