Extended winter blues

I miss my little white cottage in the wet, green space where red birds used to come down each day to serenate my hours. Small, low ceilings, and white all over. How cozy, and sunny it always felt, and how my soul misses it here in our large, tall-ceiling cold home where icy dark winter days kept stretching and widening throughout my days, throwing dark shadows upon my head. I’ve been sleeping in the smaller upstairs room, so that my soul can wrap itself in gentle coziness during cold nights, and it is been good—good to rest upon cozy shadows and dimmed lights, lower ceilings and white comforters. I’ve been making hearty soups in the evenings and toasting cranberry-walnut bread to accompany it. Nights are long and the sound of frizzing rain pitter-pattering on peat gravel outside seems to be singing a mournful quiet song. I got my book published this past week, and the amaryllis by the kitchen window has opened, and it sits in front of me laughing at my enthusiasm. Dead leaves have found a permanent home on the back porch, so it seems, and they will remain there until the sun comes back or until I can find my soul back.

“Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.”
― Virginia Woolf