Singing the Blues in March

Beau and I are weary of deep snow, ice and bitter cold, and at times, we are even a little tired of the color blue. Blue was fine in January, but it has overstayed its tenure, and we long for a little springtime green in the landscape.

It is at times like these that something small or curved or delicately robed in snow shows up and begs our rapt and focused attention, glossy bubbles in the creek, ice crystals frosting the evergreens over our heads, the shape of a frozen beech leaf on the trail at our feet, pine cones casting vivid shadows in pools of early morning sunlight.

It always seems to happen. Just when we decide enough is enough, another alluring winter tableau presents itself to the eye. Small and perfect, complete within itself, it conveys an elemental peace and balance, lowers the blood pressure and stills the breathing, returns eyes and focus to simplicity and grace and assent.

There are worlds great and small everywhere we wander. There are worlds within and worlds without, and every one is a wonder to behold and remember and love with our eyes. Surely, we can do this for a little while longer.