Laziness of the Sun

Just over a week until solstice, and the blinding, nearly-horizontal rays of the noon Sun impress upon me one simple and immutable fact: Seasonal Affective Disorder (cleverly and suggestively acronymized as "SAD") has an effect exponentially proportional to the degree of latitude. Having lived in the Pacific Northwest of the United States for most of my life means that I am no stranger to low-hanging winter Suns, but never before have I found myself appreciating the early stages of sunset at 12:15 in the afternoon.

I try not to rest on my laurels by blaming SAD for my occasional downturns of mood, a reasonable excuse though it may be. Whatever the causes, I find that the best remedy is usually a temporary change in scenery and a bout of wild smiling, if not outright laughter. In the past, I have transferred the darkened skies and cold air of winter into poetic meanderings of various tones, and thus converted my damp moods into semi-productive literary exercise. Recently, however, either I have found the Sun too low in the sky for safe literary transference, or I have simply lost touch with my muse. I have been forced to seek other forms of enlightening, such as wistful sketches of various architectural daydreams, or internal quasiemperical studies of the nature of various small pieces of the universe (exampli gratia: what in the world would cause all of the continents on Earth to ever be clustered, pangea-style?), or fleeting visits to places that are not my home-away-from-home.

I plan on taking a picture of the noon Sun at this, the highest latitude in which I have lived, on solstice. Part of this will be to record a Sun too lazy to climb to an appropriate height in the sky. Part of it, however, will be to mark the moment when I can start to justifiably look forward to new leaves on the trees, new blades of grass, warm and long days, and a general return of happiness to the Northern Hemisphere.

To that, I say, "Noroc!"