It's ten degrees Fahrenheit right now, as the first pink and blue illuminations of a gorgeous clear-skied dawn begin to peer over the east horizon. That would be at least twenty-five degrees warmer than three mornings ago, when the arrow on the outdoor thermometer went as low as it could go, to minus fifteen.
It is too easy for me to forget that there are days in winter worth experiencing, and remembering, and looking forward to. In the intense cold, you feel the progress of every breath through every alveolus of your lungs, and each blink of an eye happens in slow motion, eyelashes sticking as they mesh.
Outside, the foot-deep snowfall, just a couple of days old, sparkles like a blanket of stars under blinding sunshine, onto which the bare trees cast their shadows in brush calligraphy. The colors of the garden are from a muted palette: cinnamon-brushed evergreen of the bayberry, charcoal leaves and pods of baptisia, tin-roof rusted rugosa rose. As the sun sets, the miscanthus, golden-fronded 'Silberfeder', glows as warmly as Impressionist haystacks.
That was very nice to read. I do not particularly enjoy winter (that's rather an understatement), but it most certainly has its beautiful moments.
One special winter scene I love is the star-filled night sky on a clear, crisp night. It is so entrancing, and inevitably makes me feel like I need to slow down and enjoy life more, as I actually stop for a moment to look up and ponder life.
Posted by: Randa | February 23, 2006 at 10:31 AM
That is beautiful to read. Moves one toward gratitude, instead of complaint.
Posted by: Julana | February 23, 2006 at 03:51 PM
Lovely, impressionist prose :-)
We were having winter last week, but this week it's the tropics with temps in the 40s!
Posted by: Patricia Tryon | February 23, 2006 at 07:51 PM
Randa, Julana, Patricia - thank you so much for your kind compliments!
Posted by: Chan S. | March 05, 2006 at 08:46 PM