I spent most of my growing up in South Wales, and my ancestors are light-eyed Celts and Danes (with the occasional West Midlands Saxon and dark-eyed Scot thrown in). What I’m trying to say is that I was designed for dark, cold, wet weather, and for the most part I cope better with that than hot, dry, panting summer days.

However, for one week of the year - the darkest one - I get S.A.D. I can only begin to comprehend what it must be like for people who have this for three-four months of the year, but - bearing in mind I was limping through the dark and cold with a cane at the time - I wrote this at the Midwinter Solstice for me, and for them:

Sol Invictus

So. It’s that time of year
And for once,
Instead of limping and cursing
I’m trying to embrace it
Rather than disgrace myself

It’s hard.
I’m fighting urges deep ingrained
This is a time for flight —
Migration stilled as we
Lost our wings,
Burrowed deep.

But even sleep’s denied;
Hibernation fit only
For those that still
Shit in the woods
And so I rise
Quipping,
Chipping away at my nature
Chasing sunrise
With lights and social media,
Beating back the dark grey,
The mutterings that twine my head
Bury them in tea and time-checks,
Pleasant alarms and obsessive preparations.

All this dark week I will be
Blessing radiators,
Instant porridge and herbal infusions,
The passionate profusion of Twitter,
My East-facing bird-songed garden,
Where I turn my clanging head
To witness his return.

And, in turn, I’ll celebrate
The long nights,
These flights into the dark,
Where bright words and music
Clap fear into submission,
And love can warm us all the more.

Happy Yule, everyone.