Green to Gold and Gold to Brown

It was Mary Oliver who said in winter "the whole world smells like water in an iron cup." I have never been fond of the extreme seasons. I like a month or so of them, but then I am ready to move on.

Take for instance Winter. The air always seems too thin and it is too quiet with all the birds gone. And also there is Summer.... Everyone loves Summer. I don't. And as far as I know, I am one of the only people who is not a fan of the heated, sweating season. But as much as I hate these extremes, some things have won me over.
In winter, I love the way trees look with no leaves. Their sharp branches crossing against gray and blue. I love winter's dull, eternal blue hour. Everything melts into grayscale.
And in spite of the extra heat and thick air, I love summer nights when the deep breath of the day has been released. I also love walking barefoot over pavement, barely cool from the set sun.

However, lately, I have really been craving color. I'm not sure if all the pink I have been wearing lately has been cutting it. It is this extra need that reminds me it is about time for Spring. In fact, I must have a thing for color, because my two favorite seasons have extreme color in common. Whether it is birth or full bloom before death, Spring and Autumn are full of sweet smelling air, bluer skies, overflowing trees and a huge sigh of relief from the extremes. The hard part is waiting and watching as the sun begins to surface more often and wake up all that are sleeping.

This past fall, Ray LaMontagne released a new album called, Gossip in the Grain. Every one of his albums are separate, distinct and personal. This newest album had a song called "Winter Birds" and it has been a frequent song played on the ipod.

Here is a beautiful moment in the song:

The winter birds have come back again,
Here the sprightly Chickadee
Gone now is the Willow Wren
In passing greet each other as if old, old friends
And to the voiceless trees
It is their own they will lend

The days grow short
As the nights grow long
The kettle sings it's tortured song
As many petalled kiss I place upon her brow,
Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now

And though all these things will change,
The memories will remain
As green to gold, and gold to brown
The leaves will fall to feed the ground
And in their falling, make no sound

Here's to the coming Spring and the hope of emerging out of the gray.