Turning Grey

All winter long, I rambled in the snow and marvelled at the intense blues and magentas of my native place in winter, at the shape of this densely wooded land and the rugged contours which are concealed by tall trees and foliage for most of the calendar year. Only in winter can one truly see the bones of this place, the great stones, the wide ridges and gorges of which it is formed. There are wonderful vistas everywhere one turns, but truth to tell, there were many days in late winter when I found myself thinking wistfully of colours other than those so freely offered to me on each winter ramble.

Now my few hundred acres are changing, and here at the cusp of the seasons, the intense blues and violets of winter have flowed into the greys and taupes of early Spring. There are small flashes of emerald, viridian and chartreuse here and there from ferns and grasses poking their heads out cautiously, but beige, taupe and bosky grey are the colours of this slowly revolving time in the north.