As I put down the book to take a break from the bleak, stormy moors and constant gloom surrounding Wuthering Heights, the steady downpour outside my window accentuates my blah feelings on an otherwise relaxing winter weekend. I’m struck by the decidedly muted light bathing my reading chair, despite it being midday in Spring, and sitting within a meter of a large, east-facing window. I wondered how much mood- and energy-boosting natural light actually reaches me through the window during inclement weather. My handy melanopic spectrometer, held vertically facing the window at 1.5m, registered a mere 155 m-EDI despite being bright enough to read by. Could my present funk be part Brontë and part melanopic light deficiency?
