Into the light – An Irishman’s Diary on the glories of spring

There have been many divisions in Ireland over the years. In ancient times, Ireland was divided between Leth Cuinn – Conn’s Half – and Leth Moga – the Slave’s Half. Now, it is partitioned North and South – and we are all slaves to the EU. There is the division between left and right, between Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael, between Catholic and Protestant, between republican and West Brit, between the Irish language and the English one.

However, perhaps, the most fundamental split is between those who believe that spring begins in February with Saint Brigid’s Day and those who, refusing the wisdom of the Gael, think it is still a while away. Certainly, given our ever-changing weather, the seasons seem to have melted into one another over recent years. The clean break between one season and another does not seem to be just as well defined as before and the characteristics of those seasons – relatively warm winters and relatively cold summers – confuses us all.

St Brigid’s Day

If things continue as they are, perhaps, in years to come, St Brigid’s Day might well mark the first day of summer.

In the meantime, one thing that has not changed is that February will bring us more light, not sunshine necessarily, certainly not heat, but a little more light.

We have that wonderful saying in Ireland: “There’s a bit of a stretch in the evenings.” How poetic! A bit of a stretch. You can almost feel the fabric of the sky reach itself out towards the sun as our little country on our little planet hurtles back towards our little star. A bit of a stretch, indeed.

You certainly notice that little stretch, that bit more light, in your daily routine. Naturally, I did not become a journalist to work hard. (Please don’t tell the Editor.) Regrettably, at times over the winter, I have had to get up very early for “work”, by which I mean chiselling Irish-language hieroglyphics into the pages of this august publication.

I have been greeted by all the constellations and a full moon over Lough Neagh.

In truth, it is lovely. There is little light pollution in the early morning and the stars and moon are wondrously luminous in the black morning sky. They pluck at the heart strings for the simple reason that they shine out from the darkness. It is their light that lifts the spirit; that feeling of joy of standing under other suns in a vast cosmos. (If all that seems a bit florid, you can blame Carl Sagan! I am of that generation who began our exploration of space with the first broadcast of his seminal television series, Cosmos.)

Light

Yet, when the light comes that little bit earlier in the morning, I can honestly say that I do not miss the stars or the moon. I welcome the light. Things are easier seen in the light; the drive to the train station is safer; that stretch is accompanied with a spring in one’s step too.

We need the light physically and spiritually. Not surprisingly, Christianity is replete with images of light (“He who walks with me, walks in the light”) and while studying for a degree in scholastic philosophy – it seemed like a good idea at the time – we had a whole course devoted to the metaphysics of light. Yes. The. Metaphysics. Of. Light. (Dude, what are metaphysics?)

The Irish language too uses the word “light” in many contexts. One can say “it is becoming dark” by saying “Tá sé ag dul ó sholas.” Literally, “it is going from light.” Darkness, then, is a loss of light and not something positive. Even more fundamentally, the word “light” can be used to describe “life”. The phrase “Le mo sholas” (literally “with my light”) being rendered as “as long as I live”.

On a more prosaic level, we feel for anyone who has to work a night shift.

It is not easily done and while we all might manage one or two nights, we do not find it natural.

My mother, a nurse, used to work the hospital nightshift for decades. She never got use to missing two nights’ sleep over those long years. Even now, long retired, she speaks of the feeling of dread, almost, that she still notices on what used to be her designated nights.

Is it any wonder then that we react so well to the first rays of spring’s new light? That is why it is better to begin spring early, to look out for that little extra light, to celebrate solas.