Something about the little hints of color in a world that’s trying to re-paint itself captivate me.And the freshness of green grass, not washed out or overshadowed by a bright ball of fire in the sky.
I don’t mind cloudy days, even though my mood prefers the sun. On cloudy days, beauty can be less obvious. No vitamin D, no warm skin, no glittering water. It’s a treasure hunt where you aren’t totally sure what the treasure will be.
Cloudy days ask for attentiveness. To see the beauty, you might have to look closer, widen your eyes.
Often, it’s the tiny details that strike a match in my mind: the wrinkles in the river like it’s crumpled up paper, a rejected story or letter weaving its way through the city. Or a tree version of peach fuzz, little bits of green moss on the bark. Or the way the trees curve up from the river to frame the path alongside it.
I’m turning 20 on Monday. The Weather Channel suggests 55 degrees and partly cloudy skies, which creates a nice metaphor where I am: headed into spring. Newness, freshness, sunshine, rain. Warmer air, brighter days, growth, color. 55 degrees and partly cloudy asks for a light jacket, only to protect from light breezes and raindrops, and sunglasses, to protect your sight from the brightness ahead.
Into light. Into life. Into my twenty-first year of life. Funny that we don’t get to claim the year in our age until we’ve already lived it. I’m on to earn another tally mark, another candle.
With partly cloudy skies and 55 degrees.