A Splash of Color

And then there are days, or weeks, like these.

The sun doesn’t bid us a long, lingering farewell; it simply disappears behind a gray carpet, leaving us gasping for a hint of warmth. Sometimes the carpet is a ragged shag, sometimes a flat pile. Some days it’s more like an area rug, with half the sky covered with dirty cotton, the other half a tease, a memory, a wish. But weeks like this, the miasma stretches as far as the eye can see, and the air seems much colder than the thermometer is willing to admit. Even when the rain pauses, taking a deep breath in preparation for the next onslaught, a steady drip-drop-drip can be heard, and never-ending rivulets wend their way through the streets.

Just when we think we’ve seen all that the elements have to throw at us, when gusts of wind turn umbrellas inside out and hoods are useless and the driving rain sneaks in over the tops of our boots and seeps in through the soles, the sleet begins. Harsh and unforgiving, it screams at us to run for cover.

How glad I am to be safely ensconced inside the muted whites and beiges and yellows of my home. How warm and comfortable I am, with the heat running full blast and a hot water bottle at my back. But I need to go out. A chill assaults me even as I think about donning my boots and scarf and gloves and heavy winter coat. I stand, abandoning the warmth of my seat, and trudge toward the window.