This time of year
We plant bulbs
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This time of year
Oh this time of year, late autumn in the north, everything is dark and dying.
We wake up and it’s dark.
We go home and it’s dark.
Layers follow layers.
I find myself talking a lot about wool.
I find solace in blocks of wood, sources of heat and light.
At this time of year?
The future seems grim.
In fact it is.
Everything is dying.
Nothing will grow.
The immediate future in a very natural sense is grim.
This is the time of year that I’ve been to most funerals.
This is the time of year when I want to give up and pack it in.
This is the time of year that things seem hopeless.
And?
This is the time of year that we’ve put bulbs in the ground. Garlic, tulips. All kinds of bulbs.
Planting bulbs is an act of hope.
Planting bulbs is a statement of defiance of the chaos of winter
Spring will come.
That doesn’t have the same Stark sense of foreboding.
In just over forty days, things will turn.
In just over forty days, things will get a little more bright.
In just over forty days, the finality of Autumn will leave, the chaos of winter will dance and work it’s magic, with the promise of spring and rebirth nearby.
The bulbs are ready to become something brilliant.
In these darkening days, what are you planting?
I officially work six days a week. During May to November, I have Sundays away from home and they are deliciously a day of rest and recreation. Sometime in November, the cottage is closed and Sundays are at home. I may cook or bake in addition to the resting and working. It helps keep the house warm, too. This year, I have let projects lag: practical domestic projects, business maintenance and personal creative ones. This time of year, I can see a lump of practical time open up. I usually lose it in a soup of 50 to 60 hour work weeks from job one and robbing Peter to pay Paul in doing enough to keep job two inching along. I need a plan. Resting on Sundays when the undone mocks me is not mentally restful. Sundays, this dark winter, will be devoted to these projects. Yesterday was a holiday to observe the sacrifice of our veterans. We stayed in the city. I rested and I completed a domestic project. One mentally tormenting thought is gone this morning. Still in bed, I feel a bit lighter. Today, a working Friday, has a huge list of must do's for job one. But my heart is a little bit buoyant. My ship of mental burdens lost some cargo yesterday. There's lots of cargo left to unload. Planning what to unload each Sunday is my new weekly anticipation.