December is a struggle. The alarm goes off at about 7am, (I know, that’s not early…) and my eyes immediately register that it is black outside and therefore surely still the middle of the night. If I really have to get up, I can. But it feels all wrong – the glowing clock’s mindless insistence that it is morning contradicting the evidence of my own eyes. Unlike DB who wakes at 6ish all year roud, I only wake up properly when the sun comes up. Sleep reclaims me easily until it is light.
So the shortest day is more than a cosmic phenomenon, it’s a personal turning point too. The days cannot get shorter, the morning tension will get no stronger. It may take until about the 5th of Jan before I can tell the difference properly, but some plants will know what’s going on much quicker. The gorgeously scented Hamamellis mollis in my old garden used to flower in the first mild spell after the shortest day. The young plant in this garden is covered in tight buds and I’m keeping a close eye on it – it should break bud any day now. I collected 6 shiny black seeds from it last week ago, hopefully chilled and ready to germinate after December’s hard frosts.
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