This circle, this walk, strangely shapes my winter days. I don't know if it is the darkness turning to light or if it is that I am always alone, but this winter walk always feels different.
I shouldn't be surprised that I need darkness, but I am.
The other day, it was dark, really dark, thanks to the low clouds. I could hear the traffic in the distance and the occasional commuter train heading to Edinburgh and I felt slightly reassured. There were several moments, though, when I paused on the climb up the hill, and considered turning around because it was too dark. I could barely see the path in front of me and I wondered if the light will ever come.
I plodded on despite the darkness and my fears about what might lie ahead.
What really keeps me walking in this darkness is the poetic love affair I have with Nature. To be outside with Her when she turns from dark to light--that short moment of the day when if I could feel time move, it would be now--feeds my desire to keep walking with the dark.
Darkness gives my sight a chance to take a break while encouraging my thoughts to take shape, giving voice to metaphors and movements, shapes and sounds. And the rhythm of my walking becomes the form that holds my life together.