We're in it now. Forty-five more days of shrinking daylight before the winter solstice, before the slow climb back toward longer days begins. Here in the Pacific Northwest, that means darkness at 4:30 PM, gray skies that blur the line between day and dusk, rain that makes even midday feel dim.
As an architect, I think a lot about light and comfort —how it shapes space, how it affects us, how we can work with it or against it. These next 45 days? They're not something to just endure. They're an opportunity to be intentional about the spaces we inhabit.
The Danes call it hygge. I call it good design for dark days.
Books for When We're Inside
When the days are short and we're spending more time indoors, I find myself reaching for books that think deeply about space, light, and how we dwell:
The Timeless Way of Building and A Pattern Language by Christopher Alexander - These aren't just architecture books; they're about creating spaces that feel alive. Pattern 159, "Light on Two Sides of Every Room," hits differently when you're dealing with PNW gray.
Architecture: Form, Space, & Order by Francis D.K. Ching - A masterclass in understanding how light carves out space. Beautiful to page through on a dark afternoon.
Or just start to plan ahead for spring and become inspired by the amazing Piet Oudolf. I was fortunate to visit the amazing garden at the Vitra Museum this fall and was blown away by how stunning it was, even after its peak bloom. To learn about his beautiful-in-all-seasons gardens definitely read Planting: A New Perspective.
And when I want to dream of light entirely different from ours: The Hill Towns of Italy and The Villas of Palladio. That Mediterranean light, those limestone buildings glowing warm—it's a good reminder that light is different everywhere, and every place requires its own response.
Good lighting helps
I love cordless lamps. The freedom to move them around and create puddles of light exactly where you need them changes everything. My favorites are the Pina Pro and Poldina Micro from Zafferano. They last a long time on a charge, the light is warm and dimmable, and I can carry them from room to room as the evening unfolds.
And don't forget outdoor lighting. I have solar string lights in my backyard. They're not too bright, require zero maintenance, and turn themselves off. When you look out the window on a dark evening and see that warm glow, it extends your sense of home beyond four walls.
What I'm Cooking
Cozy simple meals are key. NYTimes Marry Me Chicken is hard to beat. Rich, comforting, the kind of thing that fills the house with good smells on a cold night. It's become a regular in my winter rotation. Another recipe is what my kids call “Peppercorn Chicken”. I don’t have a link to the recipe, but basically you brown 1.5-2lbs of chicken thighs in a dutch oven, then add in 1/2 cup each of water, olive oil and white wine, a couple tablespoons of peppercorns, several cloves of garlic, a teaspoon of salt, and a few threads of saffron… and cook it for 30 ish mins at 375- 400 degrees and its delicious. Serve over rice. Its SO good and cozy.
Small Moves, Big Impact
You don't need a renovation to make your space feel better during these dark months:
Layer your light sources. Overhead lighting is the enemy of hygge. Think lamps, candles, multiple sources at different heights. If you haven’t discovered Glassybaby yet, have a look. Little works of art for your table. Their holiday collection is gorgeous.
Pay attention to light temperature. Not all LED lights are the same. Be sure to get warm (2700K) bulbs. It matters!
Bring in flowers. Fresh flowers always help. They're a reminder that life continues, even in the dark months.
Create cozy spots to sit and read. A good chair, a soft blanket, light that's just right. Make it intentional.
Speaking of blankets - have them within reach. Texture and warmth matter. I love all the throws at Room and Board
Most important: invite friends over. For conversation, for games, for dinner. Hygge isn't just about solo comfort—it's better shared.
The light will return. But until then, we can be intentional about the spaces we're in and the people we're with. These 45 days don't have to be something we just get through. They can be their own season—one we've designed well.