I’ve been lamenting the lack of sun in these winter days, especially in the northern climes which I’ve been traveling through. Flying over Greenland and the vast reaches of northern Canada, I learned what it means not to see the sun all day at all, although the sky is clear. In London it gets dark by four o’clock this time of year, and daylight doesn’t come until around nine—and then hazily, without much conviction. In Boston there were days of snow, and now it’s rainy again here, so skies are gray through the expanse of my office window.
Gray, eternal gray. The new lightbulb at home that stimulates sunlight might or might not make me feel more cheerful on some subliminal level, but the light it casts is more subdued than normal wattage, so I’m still conscious of feeling gray outside and in.
A picture of sunflowers from an old Firenze e Toscana calendar cheers me (along with bright and brassy music by the Rolling Stones). Like them, I realize, I turn by nature towards the sun as inescapably as if drawn by a powerful magnet.
image: Sun in the Pieniny, Poland, Bartosz Kosiorek
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