Plentitude of Color

“Now shall I walk or shall I ride?
‘Ride,’ Pleasure said;
‘Walk,’ Joy replied.”
― W.H. Davies

“Within the grip of winter, it is almost impossible to imagine the spring.
The gray perished landscape is shorn of color.
Only bleakness meets the eye; everything seems severe and edged.
Winter is the oldest season; it has some quality of the absolute. Yet beneath the surface of winter, the miracle of spring is already in preparation; the cold is relenting; seeds are wakening up.
Colors are beginning to imagine how they will return.
Then, imperceptibly, somewhere one bud opens and the symphony of renewal is no longer reversible. From the black heart of winter a miraculous, breathing plenitude of color emerges.” – John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

Notes forming, taking shape to melody, spilling into symphony
Quiet to distant echoes of birds chorus
Bulbs shifting, preparing to bud
Chrysalis to butterfly
Beauty on every path
Walk softly, slowly with joyful intent
Colors asleep with imagination of brilliance to come
Winter well
Spring awaits our rested and renewed attention and awe
Symphony of renewal no longer reversible when seasons kiss.

“But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.”― George Eliot, Middlemarch