Like an army besieging a fortified castle, darkness has beset us all around. The days are getting shorter, edging toward Dec. 21, the Winter Equinox, and the nights are getting longer. Tinges of wood smoke can be caught on fleeting night breezes; the navy sky is draped with starlight and the moon is once again wearing its halo.
In the wee hours of the morning, cold weather frosts the windows and slips inside through cracks in the windowframe — sure signs that winter is right around the corner.
More so this year than ever before, the world around me seems to be retreating indoors to warm fires and steaming cups of cocoa. It’s as much a psychological retreat as it is a physical one. In this, the impending darkness feels like a physical representation of the travails faced by society as a whole. COVID-19 cases are rising at unprecedented rates, forcing everyone to distance themselves from seeing friends and loved ones, which, under normal circumstances, is a tonic for the seasonal blues.
Recently, the celebration of Thanksgiving marked an unusual beginning of the holiday season in this pandemic era. Some might not have found a whole lot to be thankful for. In some ways, I count myself in that number — it’s certainly been challenging on many levels. And yet, perhaps because of the difficulties, I find myself grateful for small blessings that I typically overlook: like moon halos (which are caused by reflected sunlight refracting through ice crystals, by the way) and holiday light displays.
As darkness settles in for what could be a long winter, it seems to me that holiday lights are being strung up on porches and draped around trees a little earlier than usual (or maybe it’s just that I’m noticing them this year). And it’s not just one or two neighbors — entire communities are being illuminated.
Deerfield, for example, is putting on a town-wide holiday light competition and Greenfield’s Franklin County Fairgrounds is hosting a seasonal light display.
This festive spirit reminds me of an impromptu long-weekend trip to Iceland I took a few years ago (yes, you read that correctly: I departed on a Friday and returned on Monday night). It was in December, a few weeks before Christmas, and the weather was cold and miserable. During daylight hours, fog limited visibility to maybe 30 feet or so and, at night, it felt like I was walking through an inky dreamworld.
The darkness was oppressively thick.
Maybe that’s why the holiday lights, which seemed to be displayed on just about every house near Reykjavik, felt so cheerful. The colorful lights made the darkness seem a little less oppressive — this year, it feels the same.