I don’t know about you, but sometimes, especially in the morning, it all just feels too much. Do you know what I mean?
It feels like a lot of effort to get up and make that cup of tea on which your life depends.
Or, like this morning, I’m sitting at my desk, typing this post, and I looked out of the window, and its drizzling – not even proper rainc- and a big wind is thrashing the birch tree, and the sky is a uniform grey, and I think, can I be bothered to go to all that trouble to get breakfast?
Maybe it’s just low blood sugar or something, and the sun will shine once I’ve actually stirred myself to eat something. But maybe it’s just the weather, which doesn’t bode well for my mood during the winter, does it?
Or maybe it’s just change, the change that is in the air with the coming of a new season.
I’ve noticed that early autumn and early spring make me feel unsettled somehow. Perhaps it’s a memory of that back to school feeling and the end of the summer freedom, or maybe it’s even deeper than that. Somewhere, in my deepest, primeval brain, the bit that remembers the mythical past, I am feeling the tug of migration.
It is the time to think about bringing the cattle down from the mountain pastures to the fields around the village huts, or, even further back, the time to prepare for the long flight to South Africa in the tiny bird remnant of my brain, or the long walk to new grazing and across the crocodile infested rivers.
It’s not depression. I know that feeling, and, if I was depressed, I wouldn’t even be bothered to write this post. It’s a restlessness, a kind of nameless anxiety, and a feeling of, yes, it’s all just too much.
Just till I’ve had breakfast, go away, world!