My world is muted, not colorless as many mourners report.

All brown and grey and silky white. Gentle colors.

winter walk.clematis seeds

winter walk.hydrangea

winter walk ice crystals

There are patterns and intricacies visible only in winter, when life has seemingly stopped.

winter walk ball

winter walk.twirly thing

winter walk.leaf pattern

There are reflections of life in the muddy water and tiny buds despite the thorns.

winter walk muddy pond

winter walk bud

winter walk.thorns

I am walking through a long, bare tunnel. The cold air echoes in the emptiness.

winter walk.tunnel

As I emerge from the darkness, a surprised robin surprises me.

He’s here early.

He tilts his head towards me, all attention as if I’m a worm underground, which he decides I am not.

He flits from branch to branch before flying off, beckoning me to follow his melodious call of spring.

winter walk crocus

Postscript: I decided I wanted a clearer photo of the flower bud, so I went outside and traipsed through the slushy snow only to find that the hydrangea buds had turned black in the recent arctic blast. Ah well, I guess that’s why they call it seasons of grief. The good news is, this made me laugh. Also, the crocus is from last year. But I know they’re coming . . . 

One day at a time.

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