It is a difficult thing to stand at the meeting point of two seasons and not feel restless. We stand on the edge of Winter, watching Spring’s tide come in. The lacy edge of a wave bubbles and sparkles at our toes, and then just as we step to splash further in, away it ebbs, leaving us still firmly on Winter. This seasonal ebb and flow pulls at our whole selves: body, mind and soul. We find ourselves talking about the weather–and not just to be polite. In speaking of it, we mean something else [as Hannah over at The Art In Life wisely observed].
Standing here at the brink, we feel the full weight of Winter, and this tiredness manifests itself differently in each person. I recognize it as a sense of color starvation: the fatigue resulting from five months of a predominantly white, olive green, and drab brown environment. It often creeps up on me, unrecognized until I discover myself buying clothing in brighter colors than usual, longing to browse conservatories, museums and Anthropology (which, given its prices, is basically a museum of pretty home-y things to me), and playing with ways of observing the colors in my own home from a different perspective.
Spring’s tide will flow over us in time. Meanwhile, I will keep faith with the colors I’ve gathered around me for such a time.