When The Grass Isn't Green


by Abigail Baldwin

As the days grow shorter and the nights grow longer, I find myself feeling downward pull of winter on my heart again. For many of us, seeing the green of the earth, hearing the birds and relaxing under the blue sky is synonymous with happiness.

Photos by Mana Parker

Photos by Mana Parker

It’s important to remember that winter is just a season, and not a permanent state of soulless, empty sadness. I admit it’s hard for me to recognize that at times. Autumn in New England is undeniably magical. But when November starts to come to a close and you exit your 4 o’clock class to a pitch black sky, it’s easy to feel like all the magic is over. Suddenly, the concrete city blocks feel drab, and the cold air feels like a personal attack.

At this juncture, we have three options:

  1. Wallow. Sit inside in a thick pair of sweats and rewatch your favorite show. Avoid looking out the window at all costs.

  2. Run! Drop out of college and move to south Florida.

  3. Find the tiniest patch of green, the 30 minutes of blue sky a day. Stare at the succulent on your desk like it’s a damn lush forest. Listen to music that makes you feel at least a little like an earth goddess.

Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with options one and two, but lately, I’ve been starved for any sort of connection with God's green earth. I’ve been trying in any way possible to find the energy that makes this planet so life-giving.

This winter, I’ll be trying to spend as much time outside as my body can handle. I’ll bundle in layer upon layer of wool and cotton just so I can spend a little time breathing the outside air, looking at evergreen trees and watching people walk their little sweater-wearing dogs.