I don’t think I have Seasonal Affective Disorder, but twice a year – August and February – a seasonal malaise sets in. Stasis is boring. By now, the thrill of snowstorms, possibility of skiing, winter stews and soups…has worn off completely. Even on a sunny day, so long as it’s cold outside, I’m depleted.
I know it’s only a few weeks until things begin to thaw. But now I crave ramps, the first shoots of rhubarb, garlic scapes, pea tendrils. Nettles. Delicate green things. My brown, dry garden fills me with despair. I don’t want to go outside, but I can’t stand being inside. I am always cold. I go silent. I should not be left alone in my own company.
Enduring these two weeks – just as in August I endure the final two weeks of the month by going stir-crazy in the oppressive humidity – is made worse by posts like this. So tantalizingly near…and yet not at all.