Vernalization
Short, dreary days and the isolation brought on by snow and ice and sharp winds have left me in a state of semi-hibernation. This has the ironic effect of giving me occasional insomnia; I feel as though I’m sleeping through my waking hours. The darkness edges in around me, and I give into a binging and purging cycle with consciousness, sleeping so long and so often that I find myself unable to sleep at all for a day or two.
This time of year always challenges my mental and emotional endurance; the concession of control to the whims of nature, the constant struggle for warmth, the brown and beige shades of death and dormancy. The light of a full moon on freshly fallen snow fills me with a kind of mania; the contrast between the brightness and the stillness stirs something deep and unmanageable. Most of winter finds me unable to gather enough energy to overcome an inertia strong enough to drop a bear into a three month nap. But the midnight light of moonbeams on a thick white blanket and tree branches standing out in silver relief against a cold black sky leaves me humming with all the energy percolating beneath the snow.
While soul and soil slumber, the whisper of cellular memory begins a slow and subtle change. Only through an accumulation of hours spent in the dormancy of cold will vernalization occur; this is what triggers the flowering process when our part of the earth faces the sun again. It is quite literally the bitter winds of winter that lace spring’s warm breath with the heavenly scent of lilac.
Sitting with that transformation produces a listlessness, a restlessness that cannot be quenched, a low hum that stirs something within but refuses to reveal itself in crescendo. That the weather imposes upon every aspect of my life with relentless demands is just icing on the crazyface cake.
Still, in the depths of my heart, I know that the light will turn warm again, that spring will burst forth in a riot of bud and blossom. It will surprise me with its swiftness and beauty; the soil and I will share a contented sigh of relief at the passing of another harsh winter. Lime green hope will crawl up valley walls in a slow but persistent march to cover the ridges. The forest floor will become a magic carpet of ephemeral wildflowers. The scent of lilac and warmth-sweetened soil will soothe the madness borne of whispers on a cold dark night.
and if your strife strikes at your sleep
remember spring swaps snow for leaves
you’ll be happy and wholesome again
when the city clears and sun ascends
-mumford and sons “winter winds”
2 comments
i have the same weird insomnia cycle in winter. i always feel so out of it and fuzzed in winter unless i have a rigid schedule to follow. believe it or not, i used to dig working in an accounting firm in winter – when i was always in the office, surrounded by miserable people, the winter blues seemed less acute.
magnolia recently posted..tougher than the rest
I love the winter. It’s almost as if the days and nights fade into one another and we can feel the true nature of time. Like stripping the marks off a clock, it flows continuously without nearly as strong of a delineation between day and night as we experience during the warmer seasons. It reveals a contrast that can easily get lost in the summer. The contrast of reality vs human consciousness. In reality, we are bound to a clock set to the revolutions of the Earth. As is nature. But our humanity, our ideas and passions, aren’t. As humans we are the only creatures that aren’t entirely under the thumb of mother nature. While the world outside is frozen and quiet, while our moods are off and down… we can use this juxtaposition to examine our human-ness and to appreciate and nurture it. Even in the midst of winter we should stay up all night, sing and dance, paint a picture… just because we can.
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