I was thinking today of how colors influence my thoughts of each season. Or perhaps it is the seasons themselves that inspire the hues my mind embraces at certain times each year. The verdent green of Summer, the browns and taupes of Autumn, the Winter whites and ivories, and all those lovely Spring pastels.
My frequent circuits around the garden each day in spring, summer and fall have been replaced by only the quickest jaunts out-of-doors, usually to collect the mail or to gather another armload of firewood before hurrying back inside and shaking the cold from my shivering limbs.
I have enjoyed the occasional snowfalls we've had over the past month, even though many dissolved into a rhythmic dripping sound against the windows as white flakes changed over to freezing rain.
I wonder if my rain barrel can hear these weekly splatterings from within the darkened garden shed and is yearning to be pressed into service again? I can hardly blame it. Now that the New Year has come and gone and the month is nearly spent, I find myself thinking about the garden quite often.
My spring daydreams have been emboldened by the teasing harbingers I've seen here and there: yellow-centered primroses that have suddenly appeared in the market with their bright maroon, yellow or purple petals; green daffodil and hyacinth fronds that seemingly pushed their way into the frigid air overnight. Even the mud pooling around the base of trees during January's brief thaw was a welcome sight and a glimpse of things to come.
These heartening reminders always come at just the right time, it seems, assuring us that the winter will end eventually, giving way to warmer days, bluer skies, softer ground, and green shoots waking from their 'long winter's nap.' Heralds that lift the heart and give hope on the chilliest days, tempering the sound of biting wind and filling my mind with visions of roses, iced tea, and verdent leaves overhead.
But for now? Now there is snow falling outside, a gossamer veil of white, with a promise of icy rain later in the night. Frost flowers limn their spidery patterns on the window panes, and wood waits on the hearth for an evening fire.