Try, cry, why, try

Darkness is upon us again, suddenly. This is where the year turns, I find; where, without warning, you live in a world which never knew those days of endless light, a world which has always included this ever-lengthening darkness, and the rain beating down, and the sound of tyres on wet tarmac.

I refuse to go. I refuse to be pulled into the vortex. I do my hair; I wear make-up, I put on jewellery, every day. Depressed one may be, but one has no right not to hold on to whatever one can. I write, here. One holds on. And look: the sun was, and there was colour.