Friday, February 04, 2022

Friday Ramble - A little scarlet, please

How to describe these early February yearnings for rantipole hues, curving shapes, foreign musics and exotic fragrances, maybe a little warmth? It is cold and snowy here this morning, and there is no vivid color outside. The front door is scarlet of course, but one can't see it from the window of my study. Several inches of snow fell overnight, and the village is a sea of rolling white from here to there and back again.

In such weather, one finds herself turning inward and a tad thoughtful, dare I say insular? I down mug after mug of Darjeeling or Lapsang or Earl Grey, prowl through the library at all hours of the day and night, haul out sketch books and play with collage, always looking for color. Any sumptuous, dazzling shade will do, scarlet, turquoise, electric blue, purple, gold—let 'em rip, let all of them rip at once and together.
In the kitchen I stare at a bowl of clementines or a tidy heap of saffron threads on the counter, and a bowl of pomegranates on the sideboard stops me dead in my tracks - the things are just so bright and juicy and pleasingly shaped. I love their architecture. Beating eggs for this morning's omelet, I got lost in all the gloriously yolky gold and stood gazing into the bowl for some time before getting on with the task at hand. It is a wonder anyone in the tribe gets fed on days like these.

Birds visiting our snow drowned garden don't seem to mind the weather, and outside there is the scarlet flash of cardinals' wings in the hedgerow, the blue of nattering jays, the yellow of grosbeaks, the delicate grays and creams of chickadees and nuthatches at the feeders. Filling the bird feeders a few minutes ago, I stopped by the cathedral fretwork of rose canes along the fence, and along came a memory right out of the shaggy green halls of departed summer - one of multitudinous blush-colored blooms and old rose fragrance. A little further along, an old stone basin held a frothy confection of frozen leaves and stems with scallops of ice and bubbles like champagne. I was going to chuck out the contents and fill the thing with birdseed this week, but I couldn't bring myself to disturb the fetching frozen arrangement.

Returning indoors, I made a pot of tea and tucked John Williams' lovely Mediterranean Concerto on the CD player. Though the weather be dark and gloomy and cold, all is well in this little corner of the world. Happy February, everyone. 

1 comment:

Tabor said...

happy February to an angel of winter.