Late Winter

It is drab outside.  Dark brown, gray, rust with hints of dingy green.  My light-sensitive eyes enjoy not squinting, but my spirit longs for sunlight, growth, something new.

***

Fresh flowers.  Citrus fruit.  Coffee.  These are the items that keep me whole during these last few weeks of winter gloom.

***

Raining and bleak outside.  Late afternoon.  I stop at our local grocery hoping to grab a few essentials.  The place is crowded with shoppers who, to put it politely, are very focused on their objectives.  Chaos.  Unhappiness.

Waiting three deep in front of the milk case I notice an older woman who is completely relaxed in the middle of this madness.  She radiates health, calm– and has excellent posture.

Intrigued, I look more closely and realize who it is.  Lilias Folan.  Of PBS yoga fame.  I quietly congratulate myself for paying attention– and stand up straighter.  Stomach in, shoulders back.  Move forward with grace.

***

I buy a bright yellow and green pillar candle.  At home I put the candle on a plate and set it on the granite counter in the kitchen.  I light the candle and the reflection of the flame on the counter gives me hope.  There is Spring in our kitchen.  For now.  I feel better.

***

Weekend plans keep me focused on doing.  As much as I want to, I can’t sit and stare out the window at nothing.  I must prepare.  Get ready.

***

Purple.  Orange.  Yellow.  Pansies planted in the fall.  Which colors will survive the winter?  Every year it is different.  I wait to see.  Curiosity replaces ennui.

***

The dark green stems of the daffodils are shooting up in the backyard.  Cheery yellow.  A bit of orange.  Color is on its way.  I am revived.

Published by

Ally Bean

Observant. Creative. Humorous. Adaptable. Happy enough. Midwestern by chance. Kindhearted most days.

7 thoughts on “Late Winter”

  1. i find myself buying fresh flowers and fave-ing loads of colorful photos on flickr. it’s definitely a coping mechanism. i’m tired of the grey. but there are hopeful signs…the birds were chattering away this morning, despite the rain. and there are snowdrops in the garden. spring will come.

    i remember lilias, yoga and you from my childhood. i would imagine she’s getting pretty old now! wonderful to hear she still has a calm presence.

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  2. Color always helps me cope this time of year when it is “blah” outside. If I can find a bit of cheer in my surroundings, then I know that I’ll be okay. Which is why I’m so happy to see my first daffy.

    Seeing Lilias was cool. I want to be just like her when I’m that age! Calm. Poised. Smiling a knowing smile.

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  3. I love this post–it gives me peace to read it. I love flowers this time of year and the warmth of the fire. It’s gray here too and my spirit is feeling it.

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  4. I understand your need for color in the winter . I start my morning drinking tea out of a bright orange or yellow cup. Doing so lifts my spirit in a way I never expected. Such a small thing.

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  5. Margaret, thanks for the compliment. I’m reading it this morning after a night of snow *ugh* Too… Much… Winter… Need… Color… Now…

    la p, what a smart idea to have a “spirited color” cup for your morning cuppa. I need to do that too– for my coffee, of course.

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  6. Love that you saw (and recognized!) Lilias! I remember that show from PBS, though as a kid I never watched. It was on just before or just after something I did watch, though.

    I love to buy a little bouquet of daffodils at the store, just stems, and watch them bloom and fill the room with color.

    Here in sunny California, though, winter is when our landscape is green and lush, and in summer, the hills turn brown and look dead. I dislike the brown and the extreme heat we usually get, so I’m enjoying the gray skies considerably.

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  7. J, I remember watching Lilias when I was young enough that I didn’t understand what the big deal was about bending yourself into different poses. I was so naturally flexible that I didn’t get why what she was doing was so great.

    Now, of course, I get it and wish that I was that limber again.

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