Last night, I woke up (to use the facilities, as usual) around 2 a.m. and stayed awake. I sat in the silent darkness and looked out the many windows in the sunroom enjoying the colorful holiday lights beaming in my front yard. I noticed a dusting and pure white, nearly neon white, snow sparkling off the illumination of the street lights. When had it snowed?
Snow tops my list of beautiful little things that sneak up on me, surprising me afresh every year. Every time they descend on us, even though I know they will, I am flooded with excitement. This snow was not the first snow of the season, yet it donned the spritely characteristics of a first snow. Light, airy, floaty, and drifty - as if it was the first snow of the season that dazzles me and sends me running outside to catch a melty flake on my tongue.
Even though the brilliance of snow is expected, and craved by me, as fall turns into winter, I am still surprised enough to yell out, "Look at the snow!" with absolute abandon and delight. The feeling booms through my body making my toes tap and my arms lift as my body pirouettes in circles of joy.
Every season brings a gift that demands exhiliration. Even though I look forward to these things, they greet me with a newness that surprises me. As we prepare for the holiday season, each year my sweet cat Winter climbs the artificial Christmas tree. She starts at the bottom and winds around the branches eventually settling into a cozy spot. From there, her beautiful blue eyes shine with triumph. It excites and astonishes me to see her perched in her favorite nest while she meows triumphantly and purrs brilliantly.
Her sister, Sky, with her glowing sky-blue eyes, would not bother with such silly endeavors as climbing trees. She, using her most dignified pose, calmly rests beneath the tree settling into the tree skirt. Or, she takes up residence with the holiday decorations. We sometimes find her examining the menorah, checking out the shepherds at the nativity seen, or batting at the jingle bell ropes that frame our hutch and hold the season's greeting cards in decorative wooden clips.
Another favorite of this season is the dramatic sky at dusk surrounding the stark, leafless trees. The picture above was taken on a cold afternoon around 4 p.m. Gloom and beauty bonded in that sky and soothed me.
I look to the seasons to bring special little things to me. My favorite season is fall. Can you blame me? All the color - red, yellow, orange, and, my favorite, burnt umber. The dictionary defines the color as a "strong, reddish brown." I see it as including more orange. I guess everyone sees things slightly differently, including color. I love burnt umber so much, I painted an entire wall in my house that color. My furniture gleams with a similar hue.
The fall offers so many opportunities to debate the colors of things in nature and the paint on the wall (my niece thinks the colore of my wall is terracotta). A favorite game growing up in my house was debating colors. A statement as simple as, "I bought an orange mum for the garden," for example, would begin a discussion. "I don't see that as orange, it is more coral to me." Then someone else would chime in, "What a beautiful color! I think it is more salmon than coral." And so on, we would discuss and debate the colors of the fall mums, the fall leaves, and, sometimes, the fall cookie frostings.
Throughout the fall, I am surprised and delighted by the beauty nature brings and the wild, unnatural beauty the neighbors bring with their decorations. What a thrill! The blow up and lit up figures are more complex each season.
Even though fall is my favorite season, nothing can touch the expected unexpected joy of spring flowers. Gardening in general and spring flowers in particular taught me the exhilaration of giving myself gifts through planning. Plant these bulbs in the fall and notice how they peek out at you from under bits of snow and dead grass in the spring. A special gift for me!
Purple, yellow, and white crocuses start the annual cycle yielding to tulips of infinite colors, hyacinths, and irises of every size. Each year, they - the people who invent hybrids of plants - come out with new colors and variations that literally blow my mind. Why yes, I absolutely must plant that deep wine colored tulip and the one that is such a deep purple it is very almost black! Then, I plan to forget about it completely until it it bursts through the gloom of March and defies sensibility with its stunning loveliness.
After admiring my garden and even though it is only 45 degrees outside, I venture to our magnificent zoo. And every year, the saucy peacocks court their fair lady peahens unabashedly in front of anyone who might want to watch. My husband believes the squawking noise they make is one simple word, a declaration, "Love!" The percussion-esque sound of the rattling of those elegantly decorated tail feathers surprises and delights me. It sounds like a harsh rainfall or much like the rain stick, the instrument. Then, once the peahen has consented, the male shields her from view with those shaking feathers. Glorious!
The "show" at the zoo of the peacocks and other animals (my husband and I tend to see someone mating every time we visit in the spring) sends me back to my garden to tend the plants emerging and begin the constant process of weeding to make way for the summer flowers. The fragrance of my lilac bush transitions the seasons bringing the sweet hummingbirds back for a taste. With absolute exhaltation, I pull the rocking chairs from the garage to sit in the delights of my back yard watching each new character emerge. Bunnies, squirrels, goldfinch, my cats secure in their harnesses enjoying the ritual of eating the grass and then puking it back up - a reliable season of constant change.
And then, as spring morphs into summer, they join me. My elegant, stately, bold, timid, delightful roses of every shape and color. They are created in so many different ways. According to the American Rose Society, all roses are classified into these groupings:
Old Garden or antique
Modern
Hybrid Tea and grandiflora
Floribunda and polyantha
Miniature or miniflora,
Climber
Shrub
It's a bit funny now as I reflect on the types. I heard my mom talk about all of these categories, especially floribunda, but I never looked them up to find out what they officially meant until now. She always said "floribunda" with a little gasp of awe. I suppose that is because floribundas create many roses in little bouquets for you as they grow.
I have grown all of these classes of roses listed here at some time or another. If you want to know more about them, please take a moment to look them up. I am not a qualified-enough gardener to write about them in complete scientific descriptions.
Whatever type they might be, it does not matter to me. I anticipate them. I long for them in the endless cold of winter. I mourn their passing at the end of fall when they finally give up their blooms. Roses will bloom through October, but rarely in November. As their blooms fade, the color of fall grabs my attention.
So, as the leaves start to fall off the trees, I look forward to the brightness of the snow. Then, when the snow becomes gray and muddled, I anticipate the shy blooms spring who give over to the bound of summer in the roses, sunflowers, and magnolia.
There is always something expected and unexpected for me to look forward to and anticipate. That assurance is a little thing that brings me joy.
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