Longing for Color
Snow has been falling for hours, reducing the landscape to a study of forms penciled on soft paper by a master’s hand.
Each line is drawn with perfection—the filigree of branches, the voluptuous curves of hills and fields, the sinuous snaking of the black creek and all its reflections.
I walk through its silence, my boots kicking up the shimmering powder, the starflakes melting on my face. I’m in an unfamiliar world, beautiful, stark and shimmering, even in the sun-hidden light. Yet something in me longs for color.
How amazing, then, as if in answer to my soul, just around a bend, a russet tree appears, and brush with matching hues, singing to my heart.
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