It happens every winter, this overbearing dread. Where am I going? Is anything I do even worth a damn? Will there ever be another spring, another summer… Ever? 
Of course there will.  It’s just a deficit of light. A stupid biological reaction betraying our oft forgotten animal reality. We’re aching for it, and no amount of switchable incandescence can change that.  

It’ll come. In time. The days are already longer, the sun warmer, the chinks showing in winter’s nocturnal armour. I just need to hunt for those crevices where rays shine through, stick my eyes wide open in their path, drink up.

It’ll come.