I'd like to think of occasional depression as akin to a virus--something about which we can do little but bundle up and let it ride. And maybe that's not so far off the mark. Perhaps some of us are simply more susceptible to "viruses of the heart," to put it (questionably, admittedly poorly) poetically. And, perhaps, like "real" viruses, some times of the year are better breeding grounds for them.
Maybe, just maybe, if we could give these dark moments that much legitimacy (i.e. virus-like rather than an intangible manifestation of our psyche) and that much of a compassionate approach to healing (i.e. wrapping up on the couch, hot tea and good book in hand), these moments wouldn't be so fraught, so feared, so dismantling. Maybe.
At the very least, compassion-toward-self and a mug of hot tea certainly couldn't hurt. Here's to warmth, petals, on our darker days.