As the Solstice approaches I ache for the light. I have filled the house with colour. The windows go uncurtained. Yet the darkness fills the spaces and day disappears.
Problems that seem surmountable on a summer day take physical form, wrap themselves around me, crave my attention, howl that they will suck me dry.
Where are the translucent green leaves, the soft, warm winds, the sunlight kissing my bare skin, yellow-winged butterflies, pink sweetpeas, sweet-scented honeysuckles and fat, humming bees?
Summer winds carry me away, down to the hot sand and pebbles, the dappled forest path, the rich soil of the life-giving garden.
How much longer do I have to stay and struggle here in this dark place, when somewhere there is summer?