Since the darkness has been invading more and more of my morning, my yoga routine has gotten a bit sidetracked. People forget that when they celebrate the winter solstice as the coming of the light, there are months yet remaining in the lengthening of darkness in the morning. Accordingly, like the light, I prolong my snooze time too. I rationalize that it won’t be light for several more hours, so I can still fit in yoga before sunrise.
Nevertheless, I do get a good substitute for my 4am yoga at least once a week when I have to shovel snow for my husband to get out of the driveway for work. Except, when it’s 4am and the wind is blowing the snow back in my face with every shovelful I feel more and more like Sisyphus and I can’t see for the snow/scarf/moistened breathy wind that has frosted my glasses, and remember that it is 4am and dark. I don’t call it yoga. I call it white tantric. I purge all my anger and frustration with the snow and despite the warning signs that near hypothermic states can cause mood disorders nicknamed the “umbles” (stumble, grumble, mumble), the grumbling and inner shouting I do at 4am is all about cleansing the psyche.
Ah, but you love the snow you remind me. Hmm, ‘tis true and this stuff is light as a feather when it comes down, looking all foamy and cleansing the air and the land and what not with its blanket of whiteness. But it is only January and my wrists are developing shovel tendinitis. Sure, in the afternoon after I clear the lumps of sand filled mini boulders that have accumulated at the front of the driveway I go for a walk. If I can look up without upsetting the delicate ratio of face to scarf to glasses coverage I can see a small portion of blue sky and an ironic sun and 7degrees Fahrenheit doesn’t feel so bad, because it is a dry cold you know. And life is good and crisp outside and for a little while I will feel warm indoors and listen to the chirp of a new bird, the recently vacated upstairs apartment has an old battery in their smoke alarm.