Only Happy In the Sun

I want to tell you a story.

But I don't even know where to begin.

December has sent me spiraling into something that can only be called the winter blues.

I am craving sunlight. A warm breeze. Keens and a muddy trails. Sunburnt shoulders and lungs filled with fresh air.

Am I only happy in the sun?

I wish my "happiness" were not so conditional.

But here I am, holed up in darkness, because the sun has gone into hiding at an early hour.

And it is cold.

Along with cold sometimes comes bitterness.

And in the bitter cold, we find ourselves lonely.

Without the warmth of company.

-

Seasonal Affective Disorder.

They've given it a name.

They always give it a name.

I have given it a different name.

Diagnosed myself with separation anxiety.

-

Separation from creation.

From purity.

From quiet.

From the peace I've grown to find in the stillness, the bigness, of nature.

When did I become such a person?

-

I like this about myself.

-

But along with all this ice and snow and chill comes a sense of dread. Avoidance.

I seem to have lost the ability to see beauty in this season.

And that is dangerous.

Because this is a long season.

-

And while my heart waits for the season of singing, and I am most myself on a warm spring afternoon with bare shoulders and feet, I must remember God is here too.

-

Winter has frozen my words.

I have a story to tell you...

about a wedding. About loving for a hundred years. About loving the whole world. About faces as canvases. About falling in love with family. About exceeding expectations. About dancing.

But I'm all hung up on the fact that I want to lay in the grass in the sun.

So when I get over that, when this long December is over, I will find my words unthawed.

And tell you about it all...