Breaking The Gray

For the last few days I’ve had a touch of the winter blues. I’ve never thought of myself as being particularly affected by the absence of sunlight, but let me just tell you: two weeks of dreary, muggy, rainy weather? Two weeks of nothing but gray outside?

Oh my word. If my disposition has been any indication, all that gray takes a toll.

Friday morning I was running errands, looking Gray Day #13 dead in the eye, and I found myself thinking that a bright turquoise sky and a bright yellow sun and some bright green leaves would be a welcome change from all the wet-leaf dreariness that has enveloped us lately. Several minutes later, when a brief little patch of sunlight peeked through the clouds for all of two minutes, I stood in the dead center of that little patch and looked up at the sky.

I couldn’t get over how much I’ve missed the sun.

I couldn’t get over how much I’ve missed color.

I told my husband that I think the gray days would be easier if it had at least been cold enough for us to build some fires (fires are orange! and red! and blue!). But since last week was about seventy four kinds of muggy, fires weren’t really an option.

Late Friday afternoon the boy and I hopped in the car for a quick road trip, and about ten minutes before the sun was supposed to set, it popped out from behind the clouds in one of the most glorious displays I’ve ever witnessed. Even the five year-old piped up from the backseat and said, “Mama! THE SUN!,” and we oooohed and ahhhhed as we made our way down the interstate.

Then I pulled out my phone (WITH BOTH EYES ON THE ROAD, OF COURSE) and snapped away.

You wouldn’t believe what those colors did for my mood.

There was pink! And red! And turquoise! IN THE SKY!

And I thought: funny how the gray days make you more appreciative of the colorful ones.

I think there just might be a metaphor in there somewhere.