November, the bad boy I always fall for

Even when there is no fog, November in Finland feels like fog.

We trundle along in grey dampness, sometimes on dry streets, sometimes with wet slush under our feet. Always cold. Now we pay the price for our glorious, paradisiacal midnight-sun summers.

November is darkness that infinitesimally brightens to a doubtful twilight in the hours around noon.

The darkness brings a gloom even in the mood of the people. A constant tiredness, sometimes a severe depression.

The miracle occurs when the temperature drops below zero. Although there is the added irritation of icy roads, snow that blocks the way and frozen fingers, the cold often brings out the sun, not seen for weeks, and suddenly people are involuntarily smiling again.

December is technically colder and darker than November. But December usually means snow that stays on the ground, reflecting light and brightening the daylight. And, of course, Christmas decorations and parties, reflecting hope and brightening moods.

On the darkest days of November I have to take up arms against the weariness, the sugar cravings, the urge to stay in bed and dwell on dark matters. I drag myself out on a walk along cold streets in the evening. I look at the lights in all windows. Candles, fairy-lights, the flicker of a flat-screen television, the warm glow of a kitchen lamp.

People are cooking pasta for their kids, walking over-enthusiastic dogs, packing their gym bags. The shop assistant in the grocery store on the corner still has the energy to smile at me. In the pub, someone is pouring a comforting pint. Someone else has lit a fire in the fireplace - I can smell wood smoke.

And the sea and the sky, despite the oppressive grey fog, take on a shade of breathtaking beauty that I never saw in summer.

A glass of wine never tastes as good as when you're dry and warm and happy - in horrible November.