A curious time of year, isn't it – mid-January? A sort of vague limbo between the festivity of the holidays and the exuberance of spring. A lull, and a seemingly dull lull at that. The bleakness of winter, the sad browns and tans and grays, feel settled in. Skies of ashen pallor refuse admittance to precious extra moments of light.
Perhaps our least beautiful month, here in the Northern Hemisphere. The search for beauty costs more effort with less reward. Or at least it seems.
But a few days ago, as I looked out on Camellia sasanqua in bloom and the very first shoots of the early narcissus peeking up in the woodland garden, snow began to fall, and in a few hours all was soft and white and puffy and pristine, reflecting light along all the garden paths and into each window in the house. 
Perhaps January could be our most beautiful month after all.
No comments:
Post a Comment