Greyness of being seems to have grabbed my soul once again this winter. I wonder if it might be a sort of preparation for winter...the long slow months of house-bound dreariness. I wonder...do people who live in more temperate climes notice the changes as much? In a world without snow and subzero temperatures, are there more subtle indications of the oncoming winter season? And do those changes still drain the spirit of color and life? I've often imagined myself living in some tropical zone, where green never changes to blazing fiery colors which later drop like ashes to the hard-packed, frozen earth, waiting for the dubious kindness of a snow-layered blanket. Would I know if it were December amidst palm trees and sunlight?

Northeastern U.S. folk know to expect heavy snows and cold grey days bereft of the colors of spring and summer. There are greens here and there...but only the dark, dreary greens of pine and shivering rhododendron, whose curled leaves reflect our own tendency to pull into ourselves and wish for sleep.

Surely the bears have the answer. Hibernation seems so much more desirable than endurance. I would love to sleep through the winter, only to wake when the birdsong and the smell of growing things tickle my inert senses. It must be wonderful to rise, hungry and lean, from a winter's use of stored fat, to thrash about in warming, muddy earth. How alive one would feel, I imagine...stomach growling, the search on for sustenance, and nature ever obliging with bitter greens and sweet, fat grubs...all the more tasty for the sharp edge of hunger.

But we are not bears and have no such luxury. Our destiny is written in the scraped-out paths on driveways and walks...in the razor-edged cold of mornings when we vainly attempt to warm cars up to some tolerable temperature so we might be insulated in our dark commutes, both mornings and evenings. No more do we return home, from the sameness of our days, to sunshine and the chance of light-dappled adventure. Only the hardiest of birds remain, and those are rarely out and about when we are. Their songs and lively chases often go unnoticed by the armies of drones in fluorescent-lit cubicles and workstations. The birds are safely tucked into the dark comfort of pine-needled branches by the time we are free to notice the outside world.

We pull into our driveways, headlights and heaters working overtime, and tread with nasty crunches and wince-causing squeaks to our warm, cozy caves. Winter nights call only the hardiest souls out, perhaps to admire the blazing, starlit skies, no longer dimmed by summer haze and humidity. Wrapped in wool, yet shivering, even these folk are limited in the amount of reflection allowed before they become aware of numbing extremities and nipped noses. Most of us profess ourselves content to fill the hours before bed with our electronic hearths, be they computer or television...or perhaps with the company of family, or a good book. As I am far from my family, and most often disappointed by television programming, I tend to prefer books. My best escapes are always accomplished in the wonderful worlds created by others. And escape from the winter drearies is much to be desired.

Sometimes even a book is not enough though. I long for the easy comraderie of summer and spring. It's amazing how isolated we become from each other in this season. Neighbors don't linger over fences to exchange gossip; impromptu gatherings by the grill are a memory; casual discussions with strangers met in parks or at fairs are no longer an option. Jumping into the car on a whim to visit a friend in another town or county is a burden. The very thought of struggling through oft-unplowed roads and uncertain traffic is reason enough to procrastinate. I think it's for this reason that the winter holidays are so very important to us. They force us to gather...groaning over the inconvenience and the effort...bringing us together in spite of ourselves. Some of us are drawn to family...some to friends...but all of us are drawn at these times to the company of others.

I've heard that the winter holidays are also the time when people who are isolated from friends and family, for whatever reason, are most depressed. I've often wondered if the holidays are really to blame. I mean, if we didn't have the holidays, wouldn't those folk be depressed by then anyway? Is it the actual celebration that causes the problem, or is it that we are ALL effected in a similar manner by this time and are relieved by the holidays? If there was no Thanksgiving tradition or Christmas obligations, would we all become horribly depressed? Would we find some other reason to gather in order to save ourselves? Considering the controversy surrounding the actual date of Jesus's birth, and the fact that this Christian holiday is celebrated with the symbols and dates corresponding to an ancient festival called Saturnalia, I tend to suspect someone had already noticed the need to have a winter gathering.

That's my own wondering, of course, and is not meant to demean or to call into question the deep meaning Christmas has for many people. It is based on the inclement weather in certain parts of the western world and on my own personal feelings about winter. I have a pernicious habit of looking for connections between things, but those connections are, by necessity, based on my own experience. I know that I am usually in a nasty "blue" state by February and have often felt myself saved by that first stubborn daffodil or crocus coming up through the snow. I NEED reminders that spring is around the corner...that the cold, grey days that seem never-ending will soon be banished, and that things will once again be colored by living, breeding things and lit by long, balmy days.

Maybe I'm projecting but...somehow I don't think I'm the only person who feels the greyness of soul and being that descends with the onset of winter or experiences the vague relief of traveling in inclement weather to share a night or day of contact with loved ones or, for that matter, with strangers. More than once I have been cut off from those closest to me and have found comfort with casual acquaintances, with those whose only connection is that they are in the same circumstances. That seems to be another happy by-product of the "holiday spirit." We are more likely to become sensitive to those who may not be as blessed as we are and to feel inclined to share our good fortune.

Whatever the reason for the timing, I am grateful for our winter holidays. If I can't be a bear and sleep the winter away, the next best thing is to have it auspiciously marked with the warmth and life of a seasonal celebration or three. After all, even in a room where there are only two people who love each other, as long as they remember to acknowledge and celebrate that love, there can be no darkness. The greyness is banished by shared, living light.

My wish for all of you...the most light-filled of winters, be it snowy or balmy.

Letter to the Author: