A few years ago, when we first moved to Colorado, I remember feeling a bit depressed as the winter dragged on, and on, and on. I was used to spring coming early and the continual brown weighed heavy on me. In fact, I painted my kitchen a brilliant, cheerful shade of granny smith apple green because I was so hungry for the sight of something green. In Houston, spring was my favorite season. It came early and was too soon eclipsed by the heat of summer and the sting of fire ants. But it was beautiful. The air seemed to throb with the scent of growing, living things. And every day it seemed a new wildflower took it's turn by the side of the road. So I wondered how I would feel moving back to Colorado for a long winter and late spring. But since that beginning transition a few years ago, I have grown to love the barren winter landscape. Maybe it fits me more now. (My kitchen was painted a chocolate brown soon after we moved back) And contrary to my initial impressions, it's beautiful. Wild and cold and free feeling. With shades of brown and gold, blues and grays, silver and white.
Roscoe and I were surprised to see this guy in the field next to us howling for all he was worth. I confess that it made me a tad bit nervous since I was out in the middle of nowhere.