The fertile dark


Though we’re not yet in the depths of winter, I can already feel the encroaching darkness.  I walk the dog in deep blue mornings, lit by the just-waning moon.  It’s already dark when I get home from work.  Even at the zenith of the day, the light is weaker, less distinct.  And yet the trees are now in full blaze, as though attempting to ward off the darkness with their colours for as long as possible.  The path is a mulch of luminous sycamore leaves.  It rains leaves as we walk.


On Tuesday we had our first snow of the season.  Tiny, gossamer spots at first, that amounted to nothing.  Then, a blizzard of fat, stinging flakes that coated the ground.  An hour later, the sun appeared and it was as though the snow storm had never happened.


As the nights lengthen, we move into what I believe is the most fertile time of year for creativity.  Darkness, for me, is comforting, electric, expectant.  I love the dark hours of the night, when the world is tinged cold blue and silence prevails.  It’s the time when anything can happen.  It’s the time when, if you’re struggling with fear or worry, your imagination can lead you down a desolate path.  But it’s also a time when ideas are wild and whimsical.  Until morning, when the thoughts of the night can seem silly or futile.  My best plans form when darkness has fallen.  So is darkness deceiving, fooling us into false dreams, or is it that we’re most ourselves in the dark, when the distractions of the world are hidden and we can think the things we truly would without its influence?


The plunge into winter offers months of fruitful darkness.  Like anyone else, I’d prefer to turn over in bed on dark mornings rather than getting up for work.  I’d prefer to walk to and from work in the light.  Yet paradoxically for this introspective season, this is the time when I most desire to walk or visit nature, revelling in the desolation of a wintry coast or skeletal forest.  I feel animated in the dark months, restless to better myself.  This is the season of the hermit, but it’s also the season when if you do go out, your face, body and mind can be scoured clean.  When instead of the sticky, lethargic tiredness of summer, you feel like you’ve earned your apathy.  So I will go out and let myself be purified by the season.  I’ll wrap up warm, but choose somewhere exposed – a beach, a hillside – where the elements will divest me of all my stale ideas.


Just because this is the dreaming season, this doesn’t mean that you have to stop creating.  My dreaming is about actively gathering ideas and inspiration.  I began this season with a series of darkness meditations.  I doused the lights and meditated with eyes open, confronting the darkness.  Thoughts and images came, which I recorded to use later as inspiration.   I’ll also use this season to stretch my creative legs and experiment: writing exercises, stream of consciousness writing and sketching, paying attention to my actual dreams.  I’ll record my ideas, thoughts and fears uncensored for future use.  I’ll also use the respite of staying indoors to try new skills, focus on my work, think about what I will do in spring.

The Hermit - Hanson Roberts deck

This is an ideal season to go on a writers’ or artists’ retreat.  As I can’t do that, I take inspiration from the Hermit and the Four of Swords in the Tarot to remind me that this is a season to hide, to repose, to plough and fertilise the soil of my mind.  I use some of the same principles as I would use in a fallow period – to bask in others’ creativity and simply absorb the world around me.  But I will also deliberately set aside fallow periods: creativity-free days, when I intentionally choose not to focus on creating.


The dark season is an ideal time to really scrutinise yourself and your practice.  Though I won’t worry about how realistic my dreams are for the moment, in the honing season following winter solstice, I’ll sift and shape them.  That’s when I’ll use the truth of the darkness to plan my direction for the year to come.  And hopefully, I’ll emerge into the light of spring newly focussed and with an arsenal of inspiration to draw on.

30 thoughts on “The fertile dark

  1. I’d never associated darkness with creativity – I always work best in the morning, but then I suppose I’ve just been through the darkness of night…
    Lovely thoughts and writing as usual – thanks.


  2. Another very evocative post Andrea, so lyrical and poetic in the way you write. You draw me in as I read your haunting descriptions of this season. Perhaps this is because I am also a night person, the complete opposite of my husband who is most definitely a morning person!

    I love going for walks when it is cold and you can wrap up warm. As you say so beautifullly here, we have earned our apathy after the lingering, sticky humidity of summer so we can excuse this when wanting to do nothing but stay indoors but when we do go outside and brave the elements, we return invigorated. This certainly works for me and ignites my creativity!

    Thank you Andrea, I really enjoyed reading this.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m at my creative peak in the days between October – February. Something about the darkness that brings out the absolute best with everything I create. I suppose I suffer a reverse S.A.D. complex! 😉

    Again, wonderful photos that go wonderfully with your post!


  4. Your posts help me see that every season has its purpose and that we can learn something from all of them, even those that normally wear us down. I will try to keep that in mind for tomorrow morning, when we could be facing snow and freezing rain. Happily, I did write more than 1,000 words on the WIP today, so maybe I’m heading into this winter with a more creative frame of mind.


    • I will be ready for spring when it comes, even though autumn and winter are my favourite seasons. I do tend to like the months leading up to Christmas the best – January and February can feel very long. But, yes, if we have something to focus on, it keeps us going through the more difficult times.


  5. Great post. I completely agree. This is the time when I plan to be home writing–outlining, drafting, revising. Winter lends itself to being a homebody and turning inward. I need to slow down and ease off the promo stuff.


  6. Pingback: Lighting up time | Harvesting Hecate

  7. Beautifully written as ever. I too have wondered often how the emotions and obsessions are at their naked best at nights. Perhaps the onset of day brings along with it the fetters and chain links of cultural conformities, acquired obeisance to the acceptability.


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