The mornings are lighter now. The air, still cold, carries the first hints of warmth. The birds begin their songs earlier, the sun stretches its reach across the sky a little longer each day. There is an undeniable shift a stirring in the air, a reminder that winter is retreating, and we are stepping into something new.
And yet, beneath the joy of brighter mornings, a quiet fear lingers. Many people dread the inevitable return of darkness, as if the light is merely borrowed time, a temporary relief before the shadows reclaim their place.
I have been doing a 6 mile walk since August with a chap , three mornings a week , and his daily mantra is we have walked right through the winter walking into the brighter mornings, the headtorch required less and less , until that moment last week where its not needed anymore to guide us .
We are creatures bound by cycles day and night, summer and winter, energy and exhaustion, hope and despair. The light returns, and we emerge from our hibernation. We run outside, reclaim our routines, and soak in the renewal that spring promises. But in the back of our minds, we know the darker days will come again. The clocks will turn back. The mornings will shrink. The cold will return.
For some, this is a passing thought. For others, it is a weight, a shadow lurking just beyond the joy of the present moment.
Darkness, both literal and metaphorical, has always carried weight. In winter, our routines become heavier. Motivation wanes. For many, seasonal affective disorder (SAD) creeps in, dulling the colors of life. Even beyond the physical aspects, darkness represents uncertainty, introspection, and sometimes, loneliness.
In the brightness of spring and summer, we feel as though we have outrun something the sadness, the heaviness, the isolation of long nights. But deep down, we know we cannot outrun the cycles. The darkness will come again. And the real challenge is not fearing its return, but learning how to exist within it.
What if we stopped fearing the inevitable? What if, instead of dreading the darker days, we embraced them for what they are—part of the rhythm of life? Just as nature has its seasons, we too have our moments of retreat and renewal.
Rather than resisting the darkness, we can prepare for it. Create warmth in our routines. Find light in different ways through connection, through movement, through stillness. Instead of fearing the slow, quiet months, we can learn to honor them, to see their lessons, to trust that just as light fades, it always returns.
Right now, the mornings are lighter. The days are stretching, inviting us to step forward. Rather than living in fear of what’s ahead, let’s fully experience what’s here. Let’s wake up with the sun and breathe in the crisp morning air. Let’s appreciate the ease of movement, the simplicity of stepping outside without layers of armor against the cold.
Darkness will come again, yes. But so will the light. It always does.
Make the Connection 