When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind
Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned
Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,
Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,
Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,—
Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes
My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,
And will be born again,—but ah, to see
Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!
Oh, Autumn! Autumn!—What is the Spring to me
The Death of Autumn – Edna St Vincent Millay
Winter draws near again, though looking about us, I think she’s been here for a while now! The cold eats into me, and the ever-present darkness closes around me like a shroud. I feel sadness overwhelmingly.
I was born a winter baby, a tragic occurence, as it meant a lifetime of desolate birthdays, forgotten by friends and family because of concerns about the weather. Baby Dex will be a winter baby, too, though with a bit of luck, he may find a thaw in his horoscope.
I read an article two days ago, which maintained that the thoughts and feelings a woman has during pregnancy can affect the mind of the child she carries. Dark thoughts can travel through the subconscious and worm their way into the progeny.
Oh dear god, I hope not!
Poor Dexter. I long to be able to save him from my darkest times. I hope he will grow up never knowing of his mother’s severe mental defects, and I will do all I can to prevent him from ever seeing the scars (real and imagined) that maim my person. But what if the damage is already done?
My depression, though under control, has only been enhanced with the addition of pregnancy hormones, and I fear that the struggles I’ve dealt with in the last 7 months have already overcome my unborn son. What have I done? I should have taken better care not to get pregnant without first getting my special brand of crazy under control….
Fear clutches at my heart when I think of my child having the same sorts of thoughts and feelings as his mother. God save him from such a fate.
For now, I simply have to pray for an early spring and an end to my seasonal melancholy.