The light becomes distilled...

In winter, every moment of sunlight seems so precious, because there is so little of it. We hunger for it.  But the is sky beginning to lighten a little more every morning now.  The more light there is, the more it enters into the eyes and angles  down into the heart, which then, like a prism, reflects it back outward, making miniature rainbows in the mind for the soul to feed upon.  Concentrated light-essence. I think eyes shine more and the heart glows too.

Every season has its own palette.  Winter and spring are the pastel seasons. Winter is white, with palest pastel hues.  Palest sunsets, and fleeting.  Palest pinks,  softest blues, most delicate lavender, always with a white horizon..  Spring keeps white in the form of spring flowers like paperwhites and narcissus, but now yellow and green enter the picture, with green coming to the fore.

 

 

A Light exists in Spring by Emily Dickinson

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period --
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay --

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament. 

Winter grows more beautiful as she ages. We can love her more as she prepares to leave us, I think, because our collective ancestor memory remembers her great power when she is in her prime,even if now we can burrow down under the covers and turn up the heat and pretend otherwise.

Spring, brings back with her our childhood, and is the more endearing for it.  The memory of being taken care of is so sweet.  I suppose that is why the palette of spring is the one we also choose for baby clothing.

It's time to welcome back the light.