The light in winter seems to be different to that of the other seasons.
It's almost as if the sun knows how badly you want to see it each and every morning so keeps you on tenterhooks, waiting for an appearance. Some days it rises up, over the horizon, filling the sky with bold oranges, reds, pinks and purples; painting the sky with a unique artwork which lasts a while then fades before you can seal it there for good.
Racing overhead through the day and before you've had a chance to figure out what's going on the sun is threatening to sink below the horizon, with one final blinding glare.
Other days it's never really there at all, lurking behind thick clouds and pretending it's having a day off.
Then it's gone and all is dark.