Were you prematurely plunged into early darkness during the wintry weather that struck the Upper Delaware River region just before Thanksgiving? Did you find yourself searching for candles and switching on solar lamps, heading to bed early as the drapery of dusk was drawn across the local landscape, marveling at the power of the natural world to bring us to our knees as we relinquished all the plans that require electricity?

As snow-laden trees tumbled across roads and brought down power lines, the number of people affected by outages multiplied. My little corner of the world in Pike County, PA was without power for five days. Those with gas generators waited in long lines at the local gas station for fuel to operate the onerous, loud and smelly machines needed to keep food safe in our silent refrigerators; those without kept warm with wood or coal stoves and layered clothes.

We pilfered from our cache of camping stuff, stringing strands of solar lights around the house, hanging inflatable solar lamps here and there, breaking out the device one cranks by hand to recharge a cellphone. 

Truthfully, it was good practice for the time to come—the liminal space between late fall and winter along with the shifting state of the psyche as we officially greet the winter solstice on December 21 and begin the process of relinquishment and acceptance. The time of year when cold and darkness increase as warmth and sunlight decline.

Late autumn brings with it a serene energy of release, write the authors of the Ashtanga Dispatch in their blog post, “Autumn’s Final Surrender.” 

“The world is letting go and a good time for us to do the same. The ground is already being laid, inviting us to slow down and quietly surrender. No more are the bright colors of yellow, red, and orange that line our dirt road. As the cold sets in and the nights grow long, the trees have finally surrendered. Even the deer hunker down, blending into a faded background of browns and grays. 

“And any remains of my once blooming garden are put to rest under a blanket of wet, rotting leaves. It’s as if all of nature has been swallowed by the earth, formless in the fog—yielding to fall’s slow decay. There is now a different garden to tend—from which all new life will one day emerge.” (Click here for “Ten Tips for Surviving the Short, Cold Days of Winter.”)

The solace offered by the natural world at this time of year is entwined with solitude, inwardness, silence and reflection—quite different from summer’s saturated lushness, fall’s fruitful abundance or spring’s exuberant energy. 

As we descend into the sere and subtle sensory depths of winter, bundle up and embrace the opportunity to rest and reflect while the seasons cycle onward. Take heart, too, for the light begins to linger longer every day after we pass through the gate of winter solstice and wander into the brilliant wonderland that awaits.