There is nothing so bitter that a patient mind cannot find some solace for it. -Seneca

We have reached the end of February and I find that at this time of year we all need a little solace.  We are surrounded, here in the northern hemisphere, with gigantic snowbanks filled with the striations of the layers of winter which we seem to carry upon our backs.  They present themselves as eons of the dark season reminding us of  the geologic ages that have passed since we have seen the green jades of summer.  What is there to comfort our pre-cambrian crusts that lie hidden beneath the stratified souls of the season?

Personally, I love the winter.  I take joy in the pure virginality of the view and I treat myself preventatively throughout the year for the onslought of the never ending dusky days of December through March.  January and February generally see me rooting around  the bottom of my freezer to find fiddleheads and raspberries that were treasures stored away for the secret days of winter when there are no visitors so I do not have to share.  The most frigid of weekends are occupied with mining through feet of snow to access a window which will get me into a hidden cubby where I stored bags of black sunflower and niger seed so my brave little feathered friends will be able to find food.  I do this out of selfishness.  I want them to remain near me and to not have to leave me alone.  I watch them and wonder at how such a tiny little soul can find the fortitude he needs to survive in the faint refractions of sunlight.  If he can do it then so can I.  I find solace that in this, the deepest most still season, the bluejays and squirrels and finches and chickadees can eat next to one another without competition.  The knowing that even in the animal world cooperation is tantamount when the days are meant for foraging and not folly is solace.

I also treat myself to bullet-proof coffee in the morning and revel in fact that I can sleep in and then watch the sun rise.  An amazing vision of sun rays igniting the snow crystals into millions of minute explosions of the joy of a new day.  Or the immense satisfaction of rising to a white weather catastrophe coming at the house with all the  powers of Loki and Hel and knowing you have a weeks worth of wood, water on hand and someone who loves you sleeping upstairs.   Evenings of hot licorice tea and pajamas and socks straight out of the dryer and flying into my bed to peruse the stack of books that were piled on my nightstand at the end of November.  I very seldom finish any of these books but pick up whichever suits my fancy on that evening and read the part that  appears before me as I plop it open and dig my hand into a warm bowl of hot buttered popcorn.

Of course there is the first aid aromatherapy kit.  Specifically designed to banish all ribbons of the woven fabric of the coverlet of depression which might seek to wrap itself around a soul.  Basil and black spruce, bergamot and frankincense, fennel and coriander.  Warming them and mixing one, two or more together and coating your feet before diving into a pair of woolen socks and braving the icy climes to attack last nights inches of purified dust with a shovel and sled.  Soaking your feet in a hot bath of eucalyptus, rosemary, ginger and basil while you sip  warm lemon tea laced with honey and watch the shadow of the smoke from the chimney on a snow boulder decorated with a thousand three-toed footprints.

Solace is described as comfort in times of distress.  At the end of this endless winters night as the sun stretches the shadows of trees into infinite laces of the hope of spring.  Brighter days and shorter nights find us seeking the seed catalogues and  sipping tea while we watch the icicles drip and plan a purchase of the first liquid gold of February, maple syrup.  Solace in sweetness.

Yet, it can be said that all solace is sweet.  A reprieve from the discomfort and pain we all have to endure at one time or another.  We all face the darkness sometime and we yearn for the brighter days.  If we can begin to seek our own solace in the wholesome things, the simple things, we can bring ourselves out of our depths of winter to enjoy the spring of the soul at any time of the year.