It’s not the cold or ice of winter that bothers me. It’s not the wind or snow. It’s not even the messy mix of salt and dirt that winter roads invariably become. It’s the darkness – that pervading darkness that comprises too much of the day and all of the night. It’s there when I wake and there when I retire, and it seeps into the middle of the day through gray shadows and the early setting of the sun.
The concept of hygge has shown me the importance of light, even if it’s just the light from a candle or two. In that warm little beacon there is all the brightness of the world, all hope and joy and the single spark of spring on the tongue of a flame. There is warmth and loveliness here.
Most of the time I employ candles at night, when the full darkness has overtaken all the land. I forget the powerful presence they can have early in the morning, when I’m about to sign on for the day, when the sky is still dim and darkness stubbornly lingers in more than just corners. Somehow it’s quieter then than the latest hour of night. Easing one’s way into the day is equally as important as easing into the time for slumber.
