Yesterday, March 20th, was the spring equinox. Spring, a time of flora and fauna that are chirping and blooming damn near everywhere. Yet even as the new buds foretell of coming colors that will fill the visual landscape, the loss of winter brings with it a slow blurring of the scenes to which we have been treated in the months prior. Hauntingly beautiful images of snowscapes are one thing, but I’ll miss the views — of the brilliant winter skies, in beckoning blues and gallant greys, of the city, of people — in between and through upward reaching, sometimes lazily hanging, other times saluting, and occasionally calling hither and thither branches of trees, the very trees that will soon shed their elegant, if somewhat aloof, demeanors and be transformed into individual microcosms of bucolic bliss (on the surface, at least).
Winter is protective time, when no excuse for the occasional moment of surliness or melancholy is needed. Just point or nod in the direction of the outside, the weather will bear the blame — nevermind that you secretly relish the stealth of the cold season, your inner incognito can run amok under layers of winter wear — when scarves and hats keep you protected even as the trees stand naked, a harsh reminder that wicked winds and other such forces of nature sometimes require more than a few layers of protection to withstand. At least winter has the decency to be bold about it. Nothing sneaky about its wrath or sheer show of strength. Spring wants us to shed our layers, and we oblige. But best to keep a scarf handy. You never know when the wind may kick up.
So herewith, a tip of the hat to winter and a warm, wise embrace to all that spring may reveal.
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show. ~Andrew Wyeth