I am one of the many that experience wintertime blahs.  It is hard not to fall into the greyness that can be winter in central Canada.  The doldrums start in November, temporarily usurped by the self-imposed panic of Christmas, and once the Christmas clean up is finished, it gradually settles over me.  I battle it every year with various activities and tools.  Sitting in warm sunny spots, getting outside, dance-able to me music, and colour

I love colour.

On a winter’s day, when the snow is fresh, the trees are slashes of darkness against the horizon, the sky could be blue creating cobalt shadows or grey with a resulting uniformity.  Then there will be a bright flash of colour; a cardinal, a chickadee’s buffy yellow breast, a purple finch, kids in snowsuits.  Colour in a winter landscape becomes so much more because of the lack of strong colours around it.  Even subtile colours, the tone of my Golden Retriever’s fur, become more vibrant in that vista.

I live in a city and finding colour in the winter landscape is a challenge.  I crave colour in the winter.  Anything to eleviate the total greyness.  When I look around and see all the people populating the grey expanse they are all wearing black.  I feel lonely in my desire for colour.  Black seems to be the pre-ordained shade of winter.  But why? Why add to the dreariness?  Why blend in with the background?  Why lose touch with the vibrancy that colour represents?  Yes, black absorbs the warmth from the sun, hides the grime better,  blends in, and is considered fashionable.  I am happily a background person, but not to the sacrifice of colour.  It doesn’t need to be anything big either; a bright scarf, a cheery patch or lapel pin, a fun hat and mitts.  Something as fleeting as a cardinal flying through the bush is enough.  Maybe colour hunting will become one of my new weapons for fighting the blahs.