Colors

We moved to Vermont 3 ½ years ago. From the moment I arrived I felt more at home than any other place I have ever lived. Before that we were in Florida for 9 years. That was a least 8 years to many for me. When it snows people ask me if I miss living in Florida and how can I stand all these gray days?

Do I miss Florida? ABSOLUTELY NOT.

As for gray days, that is in the eyes of the beholder. I’d like to tell everyone to look at the sky as if you intended to paint it. Would you mix a little black paint into some white and smear it on the canvas? No. You would look closer and see that the grays are steel, and charcoal, lavender gray and blue gray, and slightly yellow gray and almost white gray. Then there are the whites. White white and yellow white and pinkish white and almost blue white. There are stripes and wisps and the outline of billows.

In Vermont we have greens. Pine green and blue green and dark and dusty gray greens found in leaves and needles of the evergreen trees. There are oval leaves on rhododendron; sharp pointed needles and soft lace like foliage on pines and furs. There are varying shades of browns fading to gold in the underbrush that peaks through the snow under the trees. And tree trunks. There is the big sturdy chestnut tree in my neighbor’s yard and huge tangles of overgrown lilac bushes along my driveway. Bark in shades of brown and varied in texture, and the lovely long peeling white skin of birch trees.

Then we have the snow. The surface glistening like it was dusted with diamonds. Layers of compacted stuff viewed in the gash cut by the plow that clears my driveway, like striations of a geological dig going all the way down to a dirty mess at the bottom (A reminder that mud season will by oozing our way before we know it). Gray? What gray?

I am secretly hoping that we get a blizzard the end of March or early April. I like to go snow shoeing and haven’t been able to this year (the foot thing). I’m thinking I might be able to get comfortably into my boots by then. I miss the fun of breaking the snow as I make my way back to the 5 acres behind my house and the peaceful silence. I like to look for tracks in the snow. I don’t know much about identifying what I see but I enjoy seeing the different sizes of bird feet and especially the tacks of the squirrels. Their feet leave prints like little baby feet, except for the long claws at the tip of the toes.

Sometimes I wish I could paint, but the images in my head refuse to translate through my fingers to paper or canvas. But that is OK. Anything I might capture would be a moment gone. Instead I’ll savor the beauty of the moment and all the colors of winter in Vermont.