It is a November wind that grounds me, as fall grows into winter, when darkness is greatest but light, in its slivers, wins the year.
Increasingly, this is the most challenging time of the year for me. It’s less the darkness and more the coldness that has come to characterize North Florida winters.
Ripe for inflammation. I cannot wear too many sweaters, leggings, and socks. Just can’t. Cozy.
Chronic illness and its insistence on equanimity offers multiple life lenses. I never lack for gifts but this season, while prone to gratitude, is also a time of challenge and doubt.
And thus, wandering off into worry. There really is no such storm other than of my making.
No two seasons are the same, no moment redundant. I have seen this in a child’s eyes and know it to be true. Every season I discover it anew. I am only more aware in winter.