It is still the first half of August, yet it feels as if we are in the heart of autumn. There hasn’t been any real sunshine or warmth for the month and the long range forecast is not indicative of any improvement. When I took this photo just moments ago, it was 11 degrees Celsius and overcast with the promise of rain before mid-morning. It’s gloomy weather, not a naturist’s dream by any means.
Naturally, weather affects one’s mood. When this kind of weather comes to endure, I slip into a more pensive state, one that more grounded in reality rather than flying around like Icarus chasing dreams of what could be in a perfect and sunny world. At times like this, this damp, cool, and slightly dark time, I lose energy and the fog of depression appears just outside the corner of my eyes, letting me know that the castles in the air have dungeons. I have learned to take these moments seriously rather than trying to deny them. Give shadow its due and there is more space for life.
Of course, this could all be a matter of my age as well. After all, I am seventy years of age, older than dirt to almost everyone in their first half of life. When the shadow appears at the edges, youth denies what they sense and then through themselves into all sorts of activity to drown out the interior voices that call like some Siren out of the depths of the sea. I’m to old to engage in mental and physical acts of escape when the shadow emerges. Rather, I cautiously engage the shadow in a conversation that has no spoken words. We end up nodding to each other respectfully, of course with an acknowledgement that we’ll meet up again when the conditions are ripe.
Back to the present, I am back in the house, drinking morning coffee and writing. I don’t have to think of anything or plan anything. I will be a day indoors with playtime with my grandchildren.