Resistance is Futile …

Crows in Winter 1941 N.C. Wyeth(1882-1945)

The sun in the Northern Hemisphere is approaching its solstice position on the horizon. About as low-down south as you can get. Minimal daylight hours; darkness falls before suppertime. I fall with it.

Depressed? Seasonal or chronic? Both?

I’m seasonal. Cranky…irritable…overly sensitive…overly critical….overly snarky….
And I’ve got the slows. Like I’m wading through mashed potatoes. My brain is tired of thinking and I don’t want to do anything but drink coffee, eat cookies and chocolate until Summer returns.

Were I to respond to the desires of my earthly body and ethereal spirit, I’d settle myself down for this long winter’s nap. I’d stop nagging on myself to get more things done, stop scolding myself for all I have not done, or done badly. I’d swath myself in flannel, get under a quilt, and turn on It’s a Wonderful Life.

Resistance is Futile

The Winter Solstice is upon us. Me. I feel its weight, dragging me slowly down into darkness, where all my memories, my dreams and imagination reside. From here I will tell my tales in a new year, evoking the mysteries of the Universe that flow through us all.

I’m gone with it.



Author: Mary C Simmons

I am curious about nearly everything. And I love freedom. And Art.

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