The astronomical fall comes into Galicia tomorrow, at 8:49 am. For me, there is always something unique in the seasons’ changes, something that reminds us how small we are, something that reminds us that the rhythm of life, of nature, is above us. That time begins where some of us go home a little earlier, where we go inside that interior world, literally, so that, in some way, we can begin to hibernate, metaphorically. And the truth is that there are days when one asks oneself what would happen if we were to hibernate for months or years and awaken directly in spring or in a future autumn.
Even though perhaps we hibernate when we seek refuge in our own small corner, evading the things that happen around us and that sometimes we prefer not to see, not to know, not to feel because they are so painful that they can paralyze us if we go into them in depth. Perhaps we already hibernate as a society when the only thing we feel towards injustice is impotence. Perhaps we are already hibernating so we don’t have to think.
That time of the year begins when, for some, sadness appears with more frequency and seems more difficult to enjoy those little daily victories. Apparently it has a name, seasonal affective disorder. And now that days and nights will be of equal duration, that tree leaves are changing colors, I will try to enjoy this cycle as well, avoiding hibernation in my head, preparing to celebrate the small moments of generosity, of listening, of attention, so as not to forget that to improve our existence, to improve as a society and not fall to collective hibernation (indolence), we all have to do our part, no matter how difficult it seems sometimes.