Topophilia has no cure.
It is characterized (in winter) by symptoms such as gazing out of one's window for long periods, with a deep sense of appreciation for the shapes that snow takes - piles, drifts, wind sculpted ripples etc. Moments of unreasonable glee over the icicles hanging off the porch roof. Topophilia enhances the eyesight (or would that be "vision"?) so that the ever so slight fattening of buds high in the treetops (despite the subzero temperatures) can be observed, which will in turn produce the distinct sensation of sap rising in one's soul.
For many, these "symptoms" are distressing. It is not well understood by the general public that the love of/for where we are (this place, this moment) is, potentially, a good thing. Trained as we are to want "more than this" or "other than this", those who gaze out of windows believe that they are (or should be) looking for something, not at what is there.
In the language of the day, perhaps topophilia should be classed as a form of neurodiversity.
Instead, the discomfort of unacknowledged topophilia is often called "Seasonal Affective Disorder", or "S.A.D.", and treated (at worst) with drugs or (at best) St. John'swort or (by the wealthy) a trip to somewhere else, somewhere sunny, where one can appreciate one's surroundings in a more socially acceptable way.
Topophilia can affect anyone, but gardeners are the most likely to experience it. In spring, summer and autumn this is welcome - in winter, which for some of us is at least half the year - not so much. But, like everything, topophilia becomes easier with age, for age brings acceptance of self and the surprising discovery that what had once appeared to be faults and flaws in one's personality are, in fact, strengths.
Topophilia - the love of place.
It's all right to feel this way.
It is good to feel this way.