And the rain.
Oh. My. Goodness.
I'm trying to remember that "at least we don't have to shovel it," and I know that we're luckier than our Eastern cousins, given our moderate temperatures, but there is a limit to the amount of grey and wet a spirit can endure. The pounding sound on the skylights is no longer romantic -- it's just huge drops of mud-making rain. I no longer feel pioneer-nifty any more, splitting kindling, chopping wood, lighting the woodstove when I get home after a day at work -- "cranky" is a more accurate description, or at least "impatient" (Paul's away this week, and yes, I could just turn on the electric heat, but there's no question a wood fire's crackle and glow makes it a worthy companion in the fight against gloom.)
There is beauty, still, in the grey, if only I buck up and look 'round for it. And sometimes it's right there, out the window, even in the clunky-industrial aesthetic of a cargo ship. That turquoise touch on the otherwise predictable grey-white-and-rusty-red caught my eye yesterday -- and it was just the right amount of contrast to enliven the surrounding calm neutrals, and remind me of their beauty.
And having reminded myself how small a spark it takes to rekindle some enthusiasm, I'm thinking about what "little bit of turquoise" I can inject into today's classes, both for mine and for my students' sake.
What about you? mid-February, on a Thursday, are you struggling? Any inspirations transforming your days? I could use your ideas, truly. That bit of turquoise can only go so far!