The weather is cruelly indecisive at the moment. Through the last nine months I've noticed it has effected me more than ever before. I wonder whether it has it really? Or have I never been as attentive to my own behaviour as I am now. Is that age, or the wisdom that comes with it that's done this? Or more time spent with myself, in the quiet night unable to sleep, with the beating of my pregnant heart echoing in my ears? I certainly have slower and quieter days.
Yesterday I woke early to the sun rising. I'd had a restless night but seeing a warm glow peek through our curtains gave me positivity. In my head I absent mindlessly flicked through a bundle of things I could accomplish throughout the day. By the time Liam and Queenie had woken, the clouds had begun to form and I actually felt quite tired, and decided maybe just working through the washing, then resting while reading with Queenie would be more realistic. Liam made porridge before leaving for work. I brought Queenie downstairs and filled her a bowl, topped with raisins and cranberrys. I rinsed yesterday's dye stuff* then hung it on the line before helping myself to porridge. As we ate, the sky darkened. I fetched the fabric inside as it started spitting, regretting putting such a large wash in the machine.
We spent the morning in bed drawing, watching the rain throw itself against the window, and by midday I started to cry.
Sunlight gave me hope, despite my tiredness I believed it had the potential to be a great day. Once the rain had soaked the ground and the grey had coated every slither of blue, I felt hopeless. The colourless cloud had bled into my emotions and I cried out for the end of the day.
The cold steals it's way into every crack in our house, enveloping each room, till we are sat in bed with hot water bottles, boxes of pencils and each other to stay warm. Every so often I pull on my slippers and a jumper, rushing through the drafts to grab some food from the kitchen, never bothering to wash up the knife I used to spread marmalade on our toast, or leaving the humous and cucumber out on the side. Slowly the surfaces become messy and by the time late afternoon has arrived I'm so confused at where this mess has sprung from. Dinner is harder to prepare in a cold cluttered kitchen and any inspiration for heathy, yummy food is hard to come by. Regretfully this too often becomes the familiar scene in our house if Liam's working a long day shift.
Beginning to see myself in this way, knowing what the weather does so dramatically to my mood should help me to predict how I should feel that day, should give me a chance to prepare myself for blue days. But it doesn't. I am always so optimistic first thing and I'm fooled into the belief of spring being a season of sunshine, so often to be disappointed and knocked back by the first hurdle. Why on a day planned on staying inside, should what is happening outside so effect me? Perhaps because it creeps it's negativity in with the cold? Or because we were created by God from the dust, and our birthplace, his creation still resonates through us? Is that overly romantic and really it's all down to low vitamin D levels and reading too many novels? These questions are irrelevant. The fact is I am changed by the colours in the sky, the shapes the light throws me through our windows.
Each night when I pray with Queenie before bed, she lays her head on my shoulder and chatters to God while I do. My prayers of thanks lead to requests for the family. Among them I used to ask for energy, now I plead for a day of sunshine and for the earth to warm a little.
* Spent Sunday doing some natural dyeing with onion skins, more on that soon!
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