Light

I was taken to task on Tuesday for looking glum. A street-corner ne'er-do-well informed me (and the rest of Clapham Junction) that I seemed a bit down in the dumps. Being told you look “FUCKIN’ DEPRESSED” by an alcoholic bum certainly gives you pause for thought.
So this morning, despite the leaden skies, I forced a smile as I walked to the gym, just in case my derro friend was there again to comment on my mien.
They say that smiling, forced or not, releases endorphins. And I definitely felt bouncier as I grinned my way up the road. Especially when I realised that Dr. Cirrhosis McFilthymouth was nowhere to be seen. The clouds lifted and blue brightness broke forth.
I’m sitting now, facing the window, knees against the sill, leaning into sunshine. I close my eyes and inhale the pink-golden light, thoughts floating to beaches and childhood and bliss. A bumblebee taps the glass, drunk on the scent of daphne. I surf the surge of vitamin D and smile. For real.
After the last few grey heavy days, it’s wonderful to be lifted like this by the sun. Easy to see why Londoners embrace these bright harbingers of Spring, however brief, and crowd outdoors to soak and thaw. It’s impossible not to be seasonally affected.
No, it’s not Summer yet, but the endorphins are making me do it: